


Day and Night

by tenderized



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Actor AU, Alternate Universe - Actors, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Model Suna, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, aran needs to be paid more, suna needs to feed his adopted cats, tfw you're not sure if you're in love with your coworker or if you're just acting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderized/pseuds/tenderized
Summary: It’s the Wikia page for Akira fromDay and Night. It has basic information such as Age: 21, Height: 179.5 cm, Weight: 69.9 kg. At the top, there’s a profile picture, and this is what surprises him. Akira looks just like Suna, same dark hair and narrow eyes, sharp chin and upturned nose. His eyebrows are thin, and in the drawing, his mouth is curved down in a pouty frown.“Huh.” He sets the phone back down. “That’s pretty shallow, isn’t it?”Kita laughs. “Probably.” He pours tea for the both of them, filling Suna’s cup first and then his own. “But I doubt they would have picked you on looks alone. It is a pretty big project, ya know. A lotta expectations are riding on it. You must have showed some sort’a potential.” He sets the teapot down and looks Suna in the eye. “Don’t sell yerself short.”Suna's casted in this summer's hottest drama, a live-action adaptation of wildly popular BL mangaDay and Night. He agrees despite having no experience because money is money. Unfortunately, Miya Atsumu, Professional Actor™ and now beloved co-star, is an irritating perfectionist.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke & Suna Rintarou, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, hinted osayama
Comments: 69
Kudos: 230





	1. Day

**Author's Note:**

> thinking about how in all the interviews for the untamed when they're asking, "why yibo for wangji?", they just answer, "he looks cold. his eyes have got that look. you know."

Suna can’t breathe through his left nostril. He sniffs again, futilely. By his side, Kita is flipping through a massive stack of paper. 

The elevator moves up another floor, slowly. Time crawls at snail pace and the bright red two flickers to a three.

Kita says something, and Suna tugs out one of his earbuds, where FEEL SPECIAL is playing a couple of decibels higher than recommended for healthy hearing.

“Sorry?” he says. Suna’s not the type to give his respect easily, but he makes an exception for Kita, his lovely, hardworking, tireless manager, who is the only reason he still has a job probably. Also, Kita’s kind of scary. 

He’d rather do a photoshoot in nothing but a massive fur coat during the middle of winter for hours on end than upset Kita. He has, actually.

“I thought I told ya to take those decongestants this morning.” Kita says, looking at him disapprovingly. There’s a tiny furrow between his brows, but otherwise his face is impassive and blank as always.

He wishes Kita would pout a little at least. It would be cute.

“I did,” he lies. The truth is, he’d forgotten about this appointment and hadn’t had time to do much of anything other than brush his teeth and give a cursory swipe at his hair before pulling on a sweater he’d left lying on the couch the night before and heading out to where the company car had been waiting. 

Kita doesn’t believe him, obviously. He’s a smart guy. 

His manager sighs and looks back down at his notes. “I think this could be really good for your career, Suna,” he says, instead.

Suna hums, noncommittally. He’s not against the idea or anything. It’s out of his area of expertise, for sure, but a job’s a job’s a job. If it pays for his expensive ass apartment and the expensive ass cat food he keeps around for the stray cats that like to hang around on the roof, well, he can’t complain.

A couple of days ago, he’d gotten an email from the company about a casting call for a movie. ALL NIGHT LONG, it’s called. A tacky name, Suna thinks, personally. He’s heard of it, of course-- you’d have to live under a rock to not know of the hottest anticipated drama on the Internet since China’s The Untamed came out. A certain part of the Internet, he acknowledges, but still. His Twitter account follows a wide-range of audiences, so he stays informed.

He doesn’t know much about it, but the name’s familiar, and he’s seen enough to know that it’s based off the wildly popular BL manga DAY AND NIGHT. Surprisingly, maybe, it's not the genre that has him hesitating a little when Kita calls soon after and asks if he would be interested in accepting the opportunity. It’s more the fact that he’s a model, by job description and by experience. He’s never acted a day in his life.

Anyway. Kita’s persuasive, has years of experience in coaxing lazy, unmotivated Suna into jobs he’d have declined otherwise, making a name for him in a ruthless industry. Better people than him have failed to get where he is currently, and he knows he owes it all to the other's efforts.

 _It's the small things in life that make us what we are_ , Kita had told him once. Humbled him, then.

Modeling isn’t easy. Even ignoring the can of worms that is the work environment and the rigid hierarchy in place, the job itself is no joke. You have to actively place yourself in different headspaces, become different roles, both on the runway and off, and fight off the dreaded same-face syndrome that plagues so many aspiring models. 

Suna’s never been a one-hit wonder. Acting shouldn’t be too different. Just another camera, he thinks, and he’s always liked seeing himself on the screen.

Not to mention, it’s just a casting call, too. Nothing’s guaranteed. If the director doesn’t like what she sees, it’ll be water off his back, no biggie. He’d feel bad for disappointing Kita, maybe, but he doubts Kita will be disappointed either. You just have to move forward.

So, he accepts, and now they’re here.

“Did they mention why they picked me to audition?” he asks. He thinks this elevator has to be broken. They’ve been on the fifth floor for twenty seconds at least now. 

It hadn’t occurred to him previously, how strange it is that they would even reach out to him, but now that he thinks about it, it’s definitely pretty weird. He’s never showed any interest in acting in any of his interviews before, so it’s not exactly an opportunity in which his company would look to pursue for him.

The elevator has finally reached their destination, and it pauses a little before the doors slide open. They step into an empty hallway, and Kita leads them to a door at the end of the hallway. Pausing outside, Kita turns him a little, hands cool on his shoulders, until they’re face to face.

The shorter man tugs at his collar a little, flattening it down. “Mmh, no they didn’t.” His fingers smooth out the creases at his shoulders. “But I have my suspicions.” The corner of his mouth flickers up in a quick curl, but it's gone before Suna can make sense of it. 

From this close, their height difference means Suna can see the top of his head. He smiles fondly. "Okay. Well, I trust you, I guess."

Kita steps away, satisfied.

“Take this seriously,” he says, looking at him sternly. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.” Suna gives him a two-fingered salute and watches as he walks away.

He sniffles again. His nose is still blocked.

________________________________ 

When he walks in, it’s to a bare room, empty but for the table at the front, where two people are seated, and a camera on a mini tripod. It smells strongly of lemon, dominating despite his congestion, and he can see a diffuser sat in the corner of the room.

“Hello,” he says, bowing. “I’m Suna Rintarou. I’m here for the casting call for _All Night Long_. Thank you for having me.”

The woman behind the table stands up, chair squeaking gratingly, and walks over in smart, precise steps, red high heels clicking against the tile floor. There’s a massive smile on her face, and she’s very beautiful, with long curling hair dyed an auburn brown. Her fingers, he notices, have matching red acrylic nails when she brings them up for a handshake.

“Suna!” she exclaims, clearly delighted. “How perfect! You look exactly the same as you do in your photos. I’m a huge fan.”

She shakes his hand with two of her own, grip firm.

“Thank you,” he says. He has no idea what the fuck is going on. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“I’m Watanabe Sara, director and one of the producers for _All Night Long_. This is Yamamoto Eiji,” she gestures to the man at the table, who raises a hand in acknowledgement. “He’s our casting director. I’ve been following your career for a long time, and when I finally got my hands on the rights to _Day and Night_ , I knew I had to have you audition.”

He raises his eyebrows and tries to adopt an interested expression. He’s pretty sure he fails, but if anything, Watanabe manages to look even more pleased.

“Now, usually we have people try out for Kosuke just as a start and then adjust as we go, but I’m gonna have you start with Akira, okay?” There’s a gleam to her eyes that Suna’s not too sure he likes, and he starts to wonder if this is a mistake on his part. “Eiji here will read Kosuke’s lines, and you just follow along on your script, ‘kay?” She wraps his hands around a thick packet, bound together with a black plastic spiral spine, throws him an encouraging smile, and walks back to her seat. “We’ll start on page 35.”

He flips to the page and gives it a cursory glance.

_[Kosuke and Akira are in the school library. Kosuke has Akira trapped between himself and the wall in the classic kabedon.]_

It seems pretty standard. He scans the page, flips through the packet until he reaches the end of the scene. From this passage alone, at least, he can’t see why the story has garnered such popularity both nationally and internationally.

“Whenever you’re ready, Suna,” Watanabe says. He nods. “Don’t mind the camera, we’re just recording, so we can review it more later.” The little red light flickers on.

Yamamoto reads with minimum enthusiasm. “Stop running away from me, Akira. Don’t you trust me?” Suna twitches, holding back a smile. 

He chances a glance at the two across the room. Yamamoto’s unreadable as ever, but Watanabe has turned serious, her eyes calculating. The camera is rolling. He remembers Kita’s words. _Take this seriously, Suna._ He breathes in. Exhales.

“Why would I?” he spits. “You were the one that stopped talking to me five years ago. You’ve got new friends now, don’t you? Leave me alone. I don't need to be your charity case.”

_[Akira glares. His normally impassive face is flushed and furious.]_

“What?” Yamamoto says. “How could you even say that? Are you really just going to throw away the ten years of friendship we had before that? I care about you!”

_[Akira flinches, as if stung.]_

"Don't talk about things you know nothing about."

"Akira…what happened? You shut me out all of a sudden, and it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

“People change," he snaps. "Let me ask you. Where have you been these five years? Suddenly, you _care_?" No answer. Suna counts to five inside his head, lets the silence drag out. His palms are sweaty. "I see." Wait three seconds. "Clearly, you've been fine." His tone drips acid. "We don’t know each other anymore, so I suggest we treat each other like the strangers we are. Stay away.” Damn, Akira is ice cold. 

_[Akira pushes Kosuke off, gathers his books and walks away.]_

________________________________ 

Kita gets a call two weeks later in the middle of Suna’s photoshoot advertisement for some watch by a high-fashion brand. He watches as his manager walks away, and he can tell it’s important because Kita slides him a loaded look before he leaves.

He pushes it to the back of his mind and turns back to the photographer.

“Move closer together, boys. There's about as much sex appeal here as my grandma’s toenail clippings,” the cameraman says. Suna has to fight the urge to roll his eyes, but he shuffles closer, draping an arm across Sakusa’s chest, and presses in with his torso until they're back to chest. The watch on his left wrist flashes under the lights. He snorts a little, imagining the way Sakusa will complain later. Right on time, Sakusa's grip on his thigh tightens warningly.

The only people that will buy this watch are geriatric, portly businessmen. They don’t need sex appeal. Whatever. Sakusa brings his other hand up to grasp at his forearm. It’s vice-like and freezing, but Suna refuses to give him the satisfaction of flinching. They look great like this. What a jerk.

Suna brings their faces closer together, tucks his chin against the bare skin between the strong lines of the other’s neck and where his shirt is just slipping off his shoulder. If he bit down, Sakusa would pour bleach on him.

He looks into the lens and grins. Sakusa’s face is serious, marred by a frown barely there.

 _Click._ The world flashes.

He’s getting his makeup removed when Kita walks back in. They’re on lunch break currently, and Kita pulls him aside.

“Let’s go to the ramen shop across the street,” he suggests, and Suna agrees easily. On the way out they pass Sakusa, who glares at him when he waves.

“Not a very friendly guy,” he says cheerily, to which Kita chides, “Play nice.”

Once they’re seated, Suna watches Kita take out a packet of tissues to wipe down their table. It’s after they’re done ordering when Kita decides to speak.

“You got the part for Akira in _All Night Long_ ,” he says, cutting right to the chase. “It’s yours if you want it.”

Suna stares at him, letting the sentence sink in. Turns it over in his mind, once, twice. He’d almost forgotten that had even happened, having wiped it from his memory after a week of radio silence, already certain about the results.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, he hadn’t done too hot during the audition. Inexperienced as he is, he can still tell the difference between good acting and shit acting. 

It was tough reading the casting director and producer and their carefully crafted professional smiles, but Suna’s pretty good at studying people, and he could see from Watanabe’s polite clap after he’d finished that whatever high expectations she may have had for him had been brought down to reality.

“Are you surprised?” he asks. He’d told Kita exactly what had happened after he’d left.

Kita looks at him. “A little,” he acquiesces. Suna stares back, silently questioning. “But it’s my opinion that the audition was mostly just for show, anyway.” He pulls out his phone and types something in.

He sets it on the table and spins it so the screen faces Suna, who picks it up.

It’s the Wikia page for Akira from _Day and Night_. It has basic information such as Age: 21, Height: 179.5 cm, Weight: 69.9 kg. At the top, there’s a profile picture, and this is what surprises him. Akira looks just like Suna, same dark hair and narrow eyes, sharp chin and upturned nose. His eyebrows are thin, and in the drawing, his mouth is curved down in a pouty frown.

“Huh.” He sets the phone back down. “That’s pretty shallow, isn’t it?”

Kita laughs. “Probably.” He pours tea for the both of them, filling Suna’s cup first and then his own. “Even so, I doubt they would have picked ya for your looks alone. It _is_ a pretty big project, ya know. A lotta expectations are riding on it. Fans are the harshest critics, and they've got a lot of fans. You must have showed some sort’a potential.” He sets the teapot down and looks Suna in the eye. “Don’t sell yerself short.”

Suna looks away after a moment. He can admit to being the weaker man. “I’m not,” he replies. “Just being realistic.” It’s kind of funny actually. Maybe on the way home he’ll buy the manga and read it tonight.

“Well, if you want the part, let me know by the end of the week.”

“No, I’ll take it,” he says. “No need to make them wait.” He thinks about how many months of rent he’d be able to afford with the salary. Watanabe Sara had been cute, too. “I’ll treat you out soon as the first check comes in,” he winks. "Anything you want."

Kita’s unfazed, but he smiles. “I’ll hold you to that.”

________________________________ 

_@AllNightLongOfficial_ :  
Please welcome Suna Rintarou as our beloved Tsukiyomi Akira!  
[headshot attached]

_10k replies | 153.9k retweets | 573.8k likes_

**Comments:**

_@sun_and_moon24_ :  
omg never thought i’d see the day where they actually use the fancast for akira’s role

> _@daynnightfansunited_ :  
>  are u kidding me? anyone with working eyes can see he’s literally akira come to life. no way they were influenced by that fancast on twitter.
>
>> _@sun_and_moon24_ :  
>  No, the question is are _You_ stupid?? First of all, what's with the attitude? Go back to kindergarten and learn some reading comprehension maybe. Where did I say that they were influenced by that tweet? All I said was that I was surprised that Akira’s actually gonna be Suna Rintarou since I know a lot of people were fantasizing about it but never thought it’d actually come true. Literally nowhere did I say the director and producer found that post and were like oh let’s hire Suna!
>>
>>> _@daynnightfansunited_ :  
>  lol im not reading that essay

 _@atsumustan69_ :  
isn’t he a model…. thought acting was supposed to be done by actors, you know, people paid to act

> _@narutoslefteyebrow_ :  
>  who cares if he can act as long as he’s hot
> 
>  _@kosukesmaid_ :  
>  lol ur so pretentious…why are u pretending ur gonna watch the movie for the intellectual value
>
>> _@atsumustan69_ :  
>  I’m not being pretentious. The reason that DAY AND NIGHT became so popular and that ANL is one of the most anticipated movies is because the plot is good and the characters are well developed. If you can’t understand that you shouldn’t call yourself a real fan
>>
>>> _@kosukesmaid_ :  
>  Okay atsumustan69
>>> 
>>> _@justpassingby_ :  
>  LMFAOOOOO can't believe you're using ANL as abbreviation for All Night Long..can we make this a thing please

 _@cointokyoofficial_ :  
CoinTokyo a new Cryptocurrency is currently giving away FREE coins every second to new users. Click here to learn more  bit.ly/asefvpom3

 _@akirasmother_ :  
this movie’s f*cked before it’s even started rip…imagine picking some random prettyboy from off the streets as akira as if akira isn’t more than just his looks….

 _@BTS_ARMY_243_ :  
wow he’s CUTE 

_@andreamilan_ :  
SUNAAAAAAAAAA YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFULL 

_@day_and_knight_ :  
i wonder who they’re gonna cast as kosuke omg im so excited to see their chemistry *______*

> _@bokutosbbygrl:_  
>  Ahhh I hope it’s bokuto!! his outgoing personality is perfect for kosuke they both act like big, excitable puppies TT
> 
> _@girlgroupstan_7_ :  
>  i just hope they’re able to find someone taller than him…….isn’t akira supposed to be 179.5? i searched it up and suna's quite a bit taller. if they make kosuke shorter I don’t think I’d be able to watch…

________________________________ 

Casting reveals finish the next day with the main character. His co-star is revealed to be Miya Atsumu, an actor that shot to fame after taking on a role as the heartbreaker secondary male lead in a recent TV drama starring other well-known names such as Kiyoko Shimizu and Oikawa Tooru. He’d had thousands of fans tattooing his name on various body parts and posting it on the Internet, in something known as the Miya Phenomenon.

Suna watches as first #MIYA_ATSUMU trends for an hour in Japan and then #ALLNIGHTLONG trends for even longer worldwide. KIYOKO SHIMIZU makes a brief appearance as well.

miya atsumu????? Talk about bad boy gone good #MIYA_ATSUMU, a tweet reads.

> _omg can’t imagine atsumu playing the happy-go-lucky kosuke wtf, judging from the rest of the cast they definitely prioritized looks here #MIYA_ATSUMU #ALLNIGHTLONG_
> 
> _i can’t wait for the interviews of the actors…non-stans are gonna be so shocked by atsumu lmfao.. reverse charm indeed #MIYA_ATSUMU_
> 
> _i just know atsumu’s crying right now going from a tv show with KIYOKO SHIMIZU to a movie with a nobody like suna rip #ALLNIGHTLONG_
> 
> _LWEHLKF;MEL;MFKL;E THEY’RE GONNA LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER #ALLNIGHTLONG_
> 
> _put some respect on MIYA ATSUMU king of acting, king of showing these bitches he can take on every role they throw at him, king of this [censored] #MIYA_ATSUMU_
> 
> _wtf is this shit...what happened to kiyoko shimizu...#miya_shimizu_forever_
> 
> _@kiyokoshimizuofficial kiyoko shimizu sama does this mean you're free thursday night to go on a date with me on thursday night which is when i'll be free on thursday night #ALLNIGHTLONG_
> 
> _HELP are there really ppl that ship miya atsumu and kiyoko shimizu together..like the actual ACTORS...like they're not real people with real lives omfg...atsumu ain't dating kiyoko and he ain't gonna be dating suna either bc he's dating me rn actually. fucking morons_
> 
> _scientists have found the common factor in all of atsumu’s roles: SEXY #MIYA_ATSUMU_

________________________________ 

They’re gathered for the first script reading when he realizes how seriously the producers are taking the original descriptions.

The costume designer, Kinoshita, had pulled him and Atsumu to the side during the short break, and now, makes them stand still as he measures and takes notes of shoulder width, hip and waist ratios. The tape loops around the neck, follows the length of sleeves and inseam.

When Kinoshita is done with him, he’s directed to the side, and told to wait. He cracks his knuckles, restlessly. Kita had taken away his phone when they'd both been ushered into the room.

 _Make friends,_ are the directions. _Connections, at least, if that's too hard._

From the way Atsumu had been eyeing him ever since he'd caught sight of him, however, friends might be a little hard to accomplish. From the looks of it, Kita is going to have far better chances, having gone to make small talk with Ojiro Aran, Miya's agent, who not only doesn't glare at strangers, actually looks like a fun guy to be around. He'd gone up ten places in Suna's list when he saw him slap Atsumu upside the head.

Miya Atsumu is attractive, too, which is unfortunate. Nothing sucks harder than jackasses that look beautiful. Currently, he's dressed in one of those tank tops with the gaping arm holes, and every time he moves, Suna's treated to a show of his deltoids and obliques. His hair’s been dyed and toned a light blonde, and it makes his dark brows all the more striking. It's easy to see why he'd been picked for Kosuke's role, even without the startling similarity that Suna himself shared with his role, because he looks likable. Confident and self-assured.

He’s classically handsome, and thus an effortless win with the general public, favored with a straight nose and heavy-lidded eyes. An easy, malleable mouth.

It's really too bad he's got the personality of sewage, Suna thinks.

Kinoshita clicks his tongue. 

“Atsumu, you’re too short,” he admonishes. Atsumu looks at him affronted, and Suna smirks. “We need Kosuke to be taller than Akira or the fans will riot.”

“Well, that’s yer job then, isn’t it?” Atsumu snarks. “I dunno why you’re tellin’ me this. You got what ya hired.”

The designer rolls his eyes. “Most of it can be covered by camera work, probably, but we might need you to stand on some sort of platform sometimes…” he trails off. “Can you two do a _kabedon_ for me real quick?”

Suna shrugs and walks over to the wall, leaning against it. He looks down his nose at the other when Atsumu positions himself over him.

“Hmm....that’s not going to work for sure.” The designer moves back, studying them. “Suna, crouch a little, we need him to cage you in with his arm.”

This time, Suna can’t stop the self-satisfied smile from sliding over his face as he looks at the other actor and bends his knees a little. Below him, he can hear the sounds of the costume designer messing with his measuring tape and their pant legs.

Atsumu moves forward, eyes intense and glowering. Suna meets his eye contact, steady. Jerks in the industry are distressingly common.

“Okay, that’s good enough for now. We’ll figure something out.” Kinoshita stands back up, and patting them on the back, leaves.

Suna straightens and rolls his neck as Atsumu steps out of his space. It gives a satisfying crack. He should probably go find Kita and beg for his phone back.

“Yo, Rin.” Suna raises his eyebrows at the familiar address but doesn’t say anything. “Never heard of you before.”

Suna knows a provocation when he hears one. He's impressed it's so direct. “Guess I’m lucky you’re not the director then, and your decisions don’t matter, Miya.”

Atsumu laughs at that.

“So they picked you for yer looks, you know.”

Suna stares at him, a little disbelieving. “They’re saying the exact same thing about you.” 

“That’s different,” he splutters. “I know how to act. You don’t. There's a difference.”

“Sure, man.” He doesn’t have time for this dick-measuring contest. If Atsumu wants to posture, he can do it by himself. Suna moves to walk away, but Atsumu grabs him by the shoulder, tone suddenly serious.

“You better work your ass off, for real. I really hate workin’ with people that can’t act for shit.”

Suna shrugs off his hand, annoyed now, and opens his mouth to retort, but Atsumu doesn’t give him the chance. “I’ll tell you this now, but if ya fuck up, it’s on you, so don’t try ta blame anyone else, got it? You accepted the role even though ya’ve never acted before, so you better be ready to work for it. I better not hear you sayin’ yer just havin’ an off day or nothin’.”

He walks off. In the background, the fan spins lazily, turning towards Suna and buffeting his face with cool air.

Suna gives him the middle finger behind his back. Grimacing, he turns and runs his fingers through his hair. This is going to be a major pain in the ass.


	2. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Miya Atsumu should be ashamed of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's kind comments!! They mean a lot T_______T

The production team tells them that they want to film short behind-the-scenes clips of the actors and release them on a weekly basis to build anticipation for the movie and to milk the most out of Premium subscribers of their partnered provider. 

It's not exactly standard procedure for a movie, but they feel that with the pre-existing fanbase, it could be extremely profitable to market the actors themselves. Suna hadn't batted an eyelash when he'd seen it in the contract, and hearing it now, he still doesn't really care.

Instead, Suna watches with a sort of sadistic interest as Atsumu visibly fumes at this news. He doesn’t even think the anger is related to him, which makes the reaction all the more fascinating. What makes Atsumu tick, he may never understand, but that’s not going to stop him from trying.

“What’s got you so wound up now?” Suna glances at the other from the corner of his eyes as he sucks from a GATORADE squeeze bottle.

Atsumu curls his lip at him, reaching over to pop open a soda can himself. He looks like he’s debating on flat out ignoring him, but in the end the opportunity to confide in a set of willing ears wins out.

“Jus’ think fanservice is fuckin’ stupid.”

“They’re just behind-the-scenes vlogs, aren’t they?” Suna doesn’t see what the big deal is. After all, it’s not like they’re being asked to do anything extra. A few more cameras here and there and maybe some interview questions about their characters, maybe.

“ _Newbie_ ,” Atsumu mutters under his breath, just clear enough he can be sure Suna hears it. “You don't think fans'll actually wanna watch _real_ behind-the-scenes videos of the actors, do you? They want to watch their fantasy play out in real life, so they can squeal about it behind a screen.”

Suna tilts his head, confused.

“Do ya really think anyone’s gonna pay ta watch a ten-minute video of you on your phone?” Atsumu scoffs. “If you think the acting stops when the director yells cut, yer stupider than you look.” The nerve that Atsumu has to be calling other people stupid. Suna can’t get over it.

“Why’d you accept this role then if you knew this was going to happen? Hotshot like you shouldn’t have any problems getting offers from other big-name directors, right?”

Atsumu stares at him, unable to decide if he’s being mocked or not.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to read between the lines. It’s just a question.”

“I’ve been wanting to a try a role like Kosuke’s. Something diff'rent from the ones they usually offer me,” Atsumu says. “Nice to be the protagonist, too. Plus, I like Watanabe’s films.” He grins, wolfish, and his canines show. “But you’re right. I’m in demand, so they made offers I can’t turn down.” Suna makes a face. He knows that Atsumu’s being paid more than he is, but the bastard doesn’t need to make such a show of it.

“Suck a dick, Miya.”

“Beg nicely, and maybe I’ll ask Watanabe to add a scene, _Rin-ta-rou._ ”

________________________________ 

Watanabe Sara is a big name in the film industry. This is news to Suna, whose previous knowledge of movies started and ended with the twenty-four Detective Conan Case Closed films. 

The day he tells Kita he accepts the role, he goes home and reads the entirety of Watanabe’s extensive Wikipedia article. He finds out that she’d won the Japan Academy Film Prize for Outstanding Achievement in Art Direction for her latest movie _Beyond the Horizon_ and its dreamlike cinematography, which, holy shit. So he’s surprised and impressed and possibly more than a little intimidated.

He spends the rest of the night first studying the plot synopsis of _Day and Night_ , then opening up articles detailing character analyses and the intricacies of the relationships portrayed in the manga, and finally scanning more articles reporting the public's anticipation for _All Night Long_ , until the number of tabs in his window browser starts to give him a headache. Eventually, he ends up settling in to actually watch _Beyond the Horizon_ , pirated off some sketchy website, wherein he is then forced to readjust his entire view of the future.

It turns out, apparently, that he is going to be playing a main part in what might actually be a Very Big Movie. A Very Big Movie that came with Very High Expectations. He almost considers calling Kita to ask if he can still back out, if maybe he should accept that sponsorship from Bioré and photograph for the new facial cleanser instead, but for the fact that it is three in the morning by this point.

It's difficult to fall asleep when his thoughts are threatening to spill out of his head, and every time he closes his eyes all he can see is the bright crimson footprint left behind by the heroine of _Beyond the Horizon_ as she is forced to throw away the mundanity of her everyday life, giving up her regular 9-5 office job and familiar home, when she flees. His own ineptitude spreads dark in front him, yawning and depthless. 

He sees Watanabe’s characteristic green-red contrasts in his dreams that night, and images shift gauzy, gossamer to electric, pulsing neon. Shifting into awareness the next morning feels like he was never asleep to begin with, and he wakes up feeling like he'd taken a brick to the head and ended up on the wrong side of consciousness.

He brushes his teeth and washes his face mechanically, then moves to the kitchen to drink a mug of hot water because Kita’s hardwired the habit into him by now. When he presses on the ice dispenser, the first few cubes tumble through the gaps between his fingers, dropping onto the tiles, but he catches the next one, freezing against his skin, and holds it against his under eyebags. Gods willing, they’ll fade quickly. He needs this face to make money, after all.

Breakfast – or lunch now, perhaps – seems unappealing. Maybe he’ll check up on the cats. He steps around the growing puddles on the floor, out the door, and up the cement stairs to make his way to the rooftop.

The sun is pretty high up in the sky, he notices, possibly midday already, and the balmy air is edging towards uncomfortable. He does a quick survey of the roof but aside from a few wilting jasmine plants and one sad looking umbrella, broken and abandoned, there’s not a thing in sight. When he does kneel down by one of the bowls he’d set down the day before, however, he sees that it’s empty and makes a mental note to fill it again later. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, so he decides to duck back in to avoid the glare of the sunlight.

 **Kita** : emailed you a pdf of the script and the character sheets they sent me this morning. i haven’t told them your decision yet.

 **Suna** : i told u u could

 **Suna** : (⑉⊙ȏ⊙) 

**Kita** : i know, but i wanted to wait until you had the chance to sleep on it.

Kita picks up on the first ring, says “Hello, Kita Shinsuke speaking,” even though he knows it’s him. After all, Suna had personally set Kita's ringtone for him to be YES OR YES.

Silence flickers on the line, staticky, as Suna mulls over what to say. On the other side, Kita waits.

“You said they sent you the script? This morning.”

“Yes. They seem quite eager that you accept,” he responds. “I forwarded the entire email to ya.”

“This movie seems like it’ll be pretty big, huh?”

“The manga it is based off of has a large fanbase, yes.”

“Watanabe, too, though.” He chews at the dry skin on his bottom lip. He doesn't know what he's trying to prove here. What he hopes to gain from this conversation. For Kita to tell him he's right and that he should back out? "Big names."

“So is _Men’s Non-No_. With which you had an exclusive contract for two years. So is Mikimoto. So is Louis Vuitton, the brand of that ugly watch you modeled yesterday.”

Suna huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Kita hums in disapproval from miles away. “I won’t make your decisions for you, Suna.” He's chiding, but there's a sly mirthful tinge to his next words. "Don't you think I know you well enough by now? You wanted me to tell them you said yes, so you wouldn't need to think it through? You must think so little of me."

"What? Of course not!" Suna whines. "Sorry, that was childish of me."

"It was." That's Kita, never sugarcoating words. "Don't be impulsive." 

“Yeah, I know.” A thread on his pajama bottoms is coming loose, and he tugs at it, distracted. “I’ll read over the script and get back to you by Friday.”

________________________________ 

**Suna** : you can tell them i say yes

 **Suna** :for real this time ⁽(◍˃̵͈̑ᴗ˂̵͈̑)⁽

 **Kita** : alright. i’ve decided on shabu shabu btw.

________________________________ 

They’ve finished read-throughs for the first half of the movie. He’d practiced with Kita and by himself, talking at his manager as the other did paperwork or rehearsing to the cats, and despite some initial stumbles and subsequent stink-eyes from his co-star, he manages to convey enough Akira-ness for the crew’s satisfaction. Not even Atsumu has any particular complaints to make. To be fair, it’s not a terribly hard thing to do because Akira’s emotional constipation is an almost instinctual sentiment, fortunately or unfortunately, and thus easy to channel, and the other major affectation Akira is capable of in Part 1 is one he has great experience in communicating: disdain towards Atsumu.

When Watanabe finally calls for a break, Atsumu drops the affectionately suffocating act, and they’re back to barely tolerating one another.

It’s not even as if the other is being two-faced or false, though. Suna doesn’t think he possesses the intellectual complexity to deceive a baby, almost insultingly straight-forward, but Atsumu’s a good actor, so when he plays the part it’s as if he’s unconsciously become a completely different person.

On the table, Atsumu’s phone vibrates with a notification, and his lockscreen lights up. It’s a picture of himself shirtless on the cover of some magazine, and Suna itches to take a photo to upload onto some online forum. _Hello fans, this is the reality of your idol. I'm so sorry you're in love with this prick. My condolences._ One day Atsumu's going to go viral, and it'll be because a sex tape leaked of him sucking his own dick. That sort of narcissism must be terminal.

“They’ve uploaded the first clip onto their website,” Atsumu says shortly. He’s not watching the video, instead deciding to scroll through the comments directly.

Suna watches as he taps angrily at his phone, wearing the expression of someone subjected to something unspeakably terrible. Every few moments he will pause, glare especially furiously at something, and stab at his phone with his index finger.

“Chill out,” Suna says. “You look like you’re trying to break your screen. What the hell are you even doing?” 

“Ha, ha, Rin. I’m reporting comments, obviously.”

“And why on Earth would you do that.” 

Atsumu sniffs. “People c’n say what they want about me, I don’t give a fuck. But there are some real fuckin’ freaks out there that’ve been postin’ personal information out there under all my recent videos.”

Suna straightens, frowning. “What? Shouldn’t that be handled by your PR? Actually, isn’t that basis for legal action?”

“They do what they can.” His mouth tightens. "It's annoying, but nothing's happened yet."

“Hey, are ya wearing chapstick?” Atsumu looks up finally, and watches just as Suna swipes the tube across the swell of his bottom lip. It’s a tactless change of subject because, yes, _clearly_ , he is. Mint.

“Yes.” Suna doesn’t push. “Maybe you should try, so you don’t shred some poor soul's lips to bits when you try to kiss them.”

“What, thinking ‘bout kissin’ me?”

“It’s part of the job, unfortunately.”

“ _Thinkin’_ about it isn’t.”

“ _Thinkin’_ about how you fit that gigantic ego in such a short body, actually,” Suna jeers.

“Less than an inch difference, bitch,” the blonde mutters.

Atsumu suddenly shoves his phone into the other’s face indignantly. “Look at this!”

> _akiramaid:_  
>  holy fuck do y’all see this they hate each other I can’t believe production gave the ok to release this
> 
> _akiramaid:_  
>  0:31 the way suna rolled his eyes when atsumu asked him to pass him his water bottle OMFG

“You’ve gotta fix yer attitude, man! What is this shit.”

“Thought you didn’t pay attention to what people say.” Suna snorts. “Nobody actually cares. If it makes them happy, they can call me _tsundere_.” 

If someone on production tells him to change, he will. He’s a professional, and he understands the line between work and real life, but no one’s said anything yet, so as long as Atsumu continues to treat him like an idiot, he’ll go right on pissing Atsumu off. There are few pleasures in life, so he’ll take them as they come.

“They’re gonna think we hate each other. How’s that s’posed to sell?”

“Ever heard of hate sex?” He cackles as Atsumu turns red. Suna points to a comment further down. “Do shit like this again, and I guarantee you'll never have to think about sex again.”

> _sunspear63:_  
>  sending prayers to atsumu. He’s not dead yet but he will be soon for pulling suna’s chair out from under him and making suna spill his bento
>
>> _miyatwinstan:_  
>  the actual movie won’t even have atsumu because he’ll be dead. they’ll just replace him with osamu  
> 

“You deserved that! And I’m not sayin’ we needta fuck in public, but maybe be less….” Atsumu makes a gesture, encompassing Suna's, well, entirety. “Ya know?”

“If you wanted to hold my hand, Miya, all you had to do was ask,” Suna purrs, leaning forward, and traces the curve of Atsumu’s cheek, fingertips never touching. 

He flops back. “Or, every pudding cup you give me buys you an hour of my time, anything you want.”

Atsumu groans and throws his hands up in the air, a gesture Suna is about ninety percent sure he learned from Ojiro. “Ugh, ignore my advice then. Yer impossible.” Overdramatic as always. 

________________________________ 

The entire crew, packed into five cramped vans, is out on the road by 6 AM and out of the city by 7. Their destination is a tiny ancient motel in the middle of nowhere, popular in collectors' circles due to its disturbingly extensive collection of dolls from the Edo Period. Images of the motel online show the dolls displayed in little glass containers inside and outside the building at locations Suna is pretty sure are meant to purposefully throw off visitors. 

They don’t unnerve Suna exactly, but they do give one the feeling of being watched. In his room, he strategically hangs one of his shirts to block a small portrait of two _musha_ dolls.

He’s changed into swim shorts and a t-shirt and is absentmindedly checking the door to make sure it’s locked when he looks up from the texts from some friends and jumps nearly a foot in the air.

“Fucking hell, Miya. What the fuck are you doing standing outside my room like a creep.” He whispers because it’s late at night, and even though he’s pretty sure they rented out the motel, there could still be workers resting at this time. 

Atsumu shifts his gaze from Suna to his door across the hall and back to Suna. “Nothing…what took you so long anyway? We’re gonna be late.”

Suna stuffs his key card into his pocket and starts walking, Atsumu following closely behind. 

“Fell asleep. The signal’s terrible here.”

“Right? It sucks. This place gives me the heebie jeebies.”

“It’s not that bad....Wait.” Suna stops in his steps. “Don’t tell me you were skulking around outside because you were scared to be by yourself in your room.”

“I didn’t say that,” Atsumu denies. “It’s jus’ that Aran ditched me, and I was bored so I thought I’d help ya out ‘cause I knew you’d manage to forget to set an alarm or somethin’.”

“No way.” A slow grin spreads across Suna’s face. “You totally are. Scared.” He makes move as if to ditch the other.

As if on cue, the hallway light flickers off, and before Suna can even blink in surprise, Atsumu yelps and then both his hands are around his forearm, hard and bruising.

“Wait, wait, wait, Rin.” Atsumu’s voice is low and close enough that Suna can feel puffs of warm breath against his ear when he speaks. “Let’s just. Take it easy, ‘kay? Uh….you walk ahead, _slowly_ , and I’ll follow.”

“Miya. We’re going to be late.”

“No, no, it’s alright we have time—” The lights turn back on. “Oh, well, yes, hurry up, Rin, everyone’s waiting.” He propels Suna forward, looking straight ahead, and Suna notices that he keeps his hand on his shoulder the entire time until they reach the others.

“So glad to see our main players are getting along! Hup, hup into the car now, we’re gonna be out until the sun’s up at this rate,” Watanabe tuts.

Kita raises an eyebrow at their late arrival but forgoes saying anything to spray a ridiculous amount of insect repellent onto Suna instead. 

They end up at a secluded spot with a collection of natural hot springs about a fifteen-minute drive away.

It’s still sweltering hot despite the time, and Suna flaps his tee fruitlessly in effort to get some airflow. The smell of insect repellant clings to his skin, and the slight sulfuric tang in the air makes his nose wrinkle.

“Stay still,” the makeup artist reprimands, and Suna spreads his legs further to lower himself to an appropriate height as she brushes mascara across his lower lashes.

Looking at the script in his hand, he mutters his lines under his breath and flips the page. They’re filming a scene right before the climax tonight. He snickers under his breath. Climax is one way to say it, he supposes.

The water is hot when he dips his toes in, burning before soothing into a caress, and he eases himself in centimeter by centimeter. It makes the air around him feel almost cool in comparison.

The lights from the camera crew reflect off the rising vapor and give the scene an almost ghostly quality. Atsumu's blonde hair halos his face, golden-white at the edges, and beyond him, darkness envelops all else.

On the other side of the spring, Atsumu pats his lap sarcastically and leers at him. His swipes his hair back away from his face, wetting it, and there’s a slight sheen to his mouth that suggests gloss. Suna wonders if it’s the same brand as the one on his own lips, and he darts his tongue out to taste. Cherry sweet.

Atsumu’s gaze flits from his eyes to his mouth for the briefest moment, and then it’s Suna’s turn to smirk.

There's a shift in the cast of Atsumu’s face, relaxing almost imperceptibly, and the blonde opens his mouth as if to say something, when, “Oh, perfect! Someone caught that on film, right?” someone says, and his expression shutters closed.

Refusing to think about it too hard, to dedicate any brain power to the matter, Suna wades over to Atsumu’s side and climbs into his lap.

“You’re heavy,” Atsumu complains, because he’s insufferable.

“And you’re weak, Miya. Maybe it’s time to hit the gym.”

Atsumu shifts below him and settles his hands around his hips. “And yer ass is bony.”

He can hear Ojiro groan from somewhere on the sidelines.

“Keep talking, I dare you,” he whispers into Atsumu’s ear, and it must have some effect because it shuts him up. "See what happens." 

“Ready to film,” he says, louder.

________________________________ 

_[It’s late at night. Kosuke and Akira are soaking in a hot spring together. It’s quiet but for the sound of cicadas in the background.]_

**Kosuke** : I don’t get why you’ve been so secretive recently, Akira. Won’t you tell me what’s been bothering you?

Atsumu’s fingers trail up and down his torso, soothing, and leave droplets in their wake. Hot, warm, hotter.

Suna rolls his shoulders, curving away.

_[Akira takes one of Kosuke’s hands and places it over his heart. He drags it down his chest and reveals a familiar mark.]_

The concealer wipes away easily in the heat and moisture, and a dark ink brand stands stark against his skin. It had taken a surprisingly long time to set against his skin, and the make-up artist had scolded him multiple times for being too ticklish.

 **Kosuke** : Fuck, oh my god.

 **Akira:** I didn’t want to involve you in this, Kosuke. You shouldn’t even be here right now.

 **Kosuke:** Why do you have a curse?! 

**Akira:** Quiet. _[He places a hand over Kosuke’s mouth.]_ People will hear.

Atsumu stills beneath his hand, and Suna can feel the dampness from his breaths, distinct even from the humidity of the hot spring.

 **Akira:** I can’t talk about it. I’m not asking you to do anything. I don’t have much time left, maybe a year, unless I break the curse. The only reason I'm telling you this now is so you have the chance to leave. 

In the dark, all noises are amplified, and further, Suna can hear the faint trickling of water rushing to a lower section of the springs. He waits for Atsumu to speak next, for Kosuke to tell Akira that he’d never leave him, that he’ll help him find whoever is responsible, but it doesn’t come. Hesitant, he fidgets on top of the other, enough for Atsumu to feel but not enough for the cameras to catch. He wracks his brain; maybe he missed a line? Maybe Atsumu’s forgotten his lines? 

He’s about to move off the other’s lap, to ask for a line check, when Atsumu brings a hand, dripping, up to brush a dark curl of hair behind his ear and then moves to cup his face, directs his gaze back towards him.

He’s going off-script, and Suna tenses minutely.

Behind him, the camera continues to roll, and nobody makes a move to stop him. It's just them.

“Kosuke?” A question. A what the fuck are you doing right now. It comes out too soft, unsure. The audience will have to read his lips.

Below him, Atsumu stays silent, and his thumb moves to brush tenderly across his cheekbone. Slowly, then, as if afraid of spooking a wild animal, he takes hold of Suna’s hand, intertwines their fingers briefly, and brings it to his chest, over his heart. He can feel it pounding beneath his palm, steady and headstrong.

Atsumu brings his other hand to the arch of his lower back, flat against his bare skin, and presses Suna closer in. Deliberately, he slants his head down, until he's looking up at him through a fan of lashes.

They’re wet from condensation.

He stops. Waits. _Back out now or back out never_ , he seems to say, and Suna, still unsure of what Atsumu’s planning, dips his head briefly in permission.

And Kosuke presses his lips against Akira’s mark, soft, making Akira gasp in surprise, free arm reaching out reflexively to grip against Kosuke’s back, nails digging in and leaving red marks.

Atsumu’s heartbeat jackrabbits fever fast beneath his fingers, and a sound escapes Suna’s mouth, faint.

 **Kosuke:** Do you get it now, Akira?

_[Kosuke and Akira kiss.]_

“Cut!”

Watanabe’s clapping. “Atsumu, that was genius,” Watanabe crows. “And Suna! What an impressive reaction. Akira’s shock at Kosuke’s devotion was absolutely palpable! You could feel the tension. Bravo, bravo.”

Suna pulls himself out of the hot spring, and someone wraps a towel around him. The oppressive heat of the water is gone, leaving him cooling in the night air. Water drips from his shorts onto his toes.

He feels inexplicably tired.

________________________________ 

He’s readying himself for bed when someone bangs at his door. He sighs.

“What? Too scared to sleep?” he snarks. Atsumu’s at the door, dressed in a tank top and shorts.

“No…? How’d ya know it was me?”

“There is literally no one else rude enough to knock on a co-worker’s bed at this time of the night. So it was either you or one of those dolls at the end of the hallway. Now go away.”

“Aw, come on, Rin. Aren’t ya gonna let me in?”

“No.”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “You have to get used to sleeping with me eventually. Fer Akira.”

“I really don’t.” Suna moves to shut the door, and it closes on Atsumu’s foot.

He squeals. “Ow! Fuck! I’m wearing _slippers_ , you piece of shit. You are such a fucking bastard, you motherfucker.” Suna pushes harder.

“Wait, no, come on, Rin,” he whines. “Fuck, seriously. I’ll buy ya all the pudding cups you could ever want, okay? Just lemme stay the night or something,” comes rushing out. 

Suna opens the door wide, and Atsumu comes tumbling in, falling on his ass. Suna laughs, closing the door behind them.

“Couldn’t you have gone to bother Ojiro or something?”

“He’d prob’ly beat my ass.” He’s glaring at the floor now, sullen. “Also, his room’s not on this floor, and okay, I didn’t wanna walk past any more of those dolls. I mean, what if th’ lights in the hallway go crazy again?” 

“You mean like this?”

Suna flips the light switch, and the room goes dark. Atsumu shouts and clutches his leg. Someone from the next room pounds on the wall. He turns the light back on.

“Okay, whatever. There’s an extra futon in the closet. Set that up or sleep on the floor, I don’t care. I’m gonna go brush my teeth.”

When he comes out of the bathroom, Atsumu has the other futon rolled out, pushed suspiciously close to his own mat, and papers are spread across it.

“Why don’t we go over the scene for tomorrow?” he says casually, and he’s looking at Suna as if he actually expects a yes to come out of his mouth.

“Are you serious right now?” He collapses onto his own futon, limbs loose, and buries his head in his pillow. His hair’s still wet, but he can deal. “No fucking way,” he says, muffled.

“What, why not? Just for like thirty minutes.”

Suna narrows his eyes at him. “I am not going to practice the script with you at two in the morning, Miya. I am going to sleep, and you are going to do the same, or I’ll throw you out into the hallway and leave you to fend for yourself against the haunted dolls.”

Atsumu scowls. “What’s wrong with some more practicin’? How do ya expect to get better if you don’t practice?”

“I do practice, dipshit. Just like you’ve already practiced. It’s pointless to squeeze that sort of stuff in whatever extra time you have.” He rolls over. “Turn off the lights, will you?”

It’s quiet for a few seconds except for the whirring of the overhead fan, but soon enough he hears the sounds of someone getting up. He sighs. Atsumu must be tired as well. Usually he wouldn’t give in this easily.

He closes his eyes, and it goes red to black as Atsumu flips the switch. Some shuffling sounds, and then someone trips over his leg and lands heavily on the ground.

His sleep is dreamless that night.

________________________________ 

His alarm blares, loud and insistent, and he flaps his arm around to find it. His movements fling it even further away until he's forced to actually get up to retrieve his phone. He squints at the time. Just a little before ten in the morning. He tosses it to the ground and turns around. They’ve got the day off. He can sleep in.

Someone’s foot connects with his side, and he jerks away.

“What the fuck?” He glares at the foot. The foot, which is connected to an annoyingly toned leg, which belongs to an annoyingly chipper voice.

“Let’s explore the town, Rin. Get up already.”

“Fuck off.” He pulls the blanket over his head.

Just as he’s about to fall asleep again, the blanket is yanked from him, and he sits up indignantly, then regrets it immediately when he becomes dizzy from the action. _Low on iron_ , his Kita voice reprimands. 

Atsumu’s holding the blanket away from him, and he looks like he’d already washed up and changed. Suna never gave him a key card to his room, and the doors lock automatically, so this means that either Atsumu left the door to his room open for an indefinite amount of time while he showered in his own room, or he’d gone back to his room, brought over his toiletries, and used Suna’s bathroom. He’s not sure which option is worse.

In the end, he decides he doesn’t have the energy to argue, and he stumbles into the bathroom, thoughts still hazy. He’d had the strangest dream of an annoying Labrador retriever that followed him everywhere he went. Remembering the fox ears that Kita’d had in the dream, he smiles a little.

“What’re you smiling to yerself like a creep for?” There’s that grating voice again. 

Suna ignores him and gives Atsumu the middle finger without glancing over, continuing to brush his teeth instead. He looks at the sink more closely. Yup. There’s another toothbrush in one of the little glass cups. He’s going to have to talk to the front desk about calling pest control.

They end up wandering around the streets near the motel. There’s a small alleyway with little touristy shops set up, overhead awnings providing minimum shade, and a couple of the cafés look promising. Suna strays closer to the edges, taking advantage of the misting stations meant to lure in customers.

He’s licking at a red bean popsicle he’d bullied Atsumu into buying for him as compensation when a tentative voice calls out to them. He bites down, and Atsumu looks away in disgust.

“Excuse me, are you Miya Atsumu, the actor?” Two girls about their age are behind them. They're cute, in an average sort of way, and dressed like tourists, with large cameras on them. One of them already has her phone out, cased in light pink, and is filming the both of them.

They’re not really paying attention to him, so he steps back a little to observe. He can already hear Atsumu preening and bragging about his popularity later.

He expects the blonde will listen to their fawning a little, maybe take a selfie with them, and that’ll be that. He kind of wants to escape into one of the shops. It really is hot out here, being directly under the sun's rays, and he’s starting to feel kinship with the wilting plants outside.

“No.” is the blunt reply. Atsumu tugs on his arm to lead him forward, and Suna snaps his head toward him in surprise. The angle at which Atsumu is holding his wrist is awkward and he has to hurry to avoid dropping his popsicle.

Then, the sound of sandals slapping against the cobblestone follows them, and one of the girls reaches out and snags the edge of his sleeve, shameless. He stops instead of yanking himself out of her grip, not yet willing to be rude to these strangers. He’s suddenly hyperaware of the phone in her hand. Beside him, Atsumu comes to a full stop as well.

“Wait, but you are, aren’t you?” is the excited exclamation. There’s another phone being shoved between them, and Suna glances down to see Miya Atsumu’s pictures dominating the Google Images tab. “This is you, right? Oh my god, this is so lucky. We are _such_ huge fans. Do you think maybe we could take a picture together?” 

He nudges Atsumu. _How annoying._ The faster they get this over with, the faster these fans will leave.

“We’re busy,” Atsumu grits out instead. "No photos."

“Aww, I promise it’ll be super fast,” the other girl pleads, insistent. “We don't even have to take individual ones. We can just do a big group one!”

Suna decides to lie. “We’re actually not on schedule right now, so he’s not permitted to take pictures with fans.”

The girl recording them swings towards him, camera way too close for comfort.

“We swear we won’t tell _anyone_. Promise.” The first girl who had spoken faces him. “Do you think you could take a picture of the three of us?” Suna stares at her blankly. Does she think that he’s Atsumu’s manager?

She’s handing her phone over now, demanding, and Suna doesn't move, ready to refuse again.

Then, in a move surprising everyone, Atsumu reaches across, bats the phone out of her grip, and Suna watches it fall, as if in slow-motion, polished screen winking in the light, before hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. The sun glimmers on the broken glass. All the while, her friend is still filming on her phone.

“What’s so hard to understand about 'Fuck. Off.', _pigs_?” Atsumu's voice is intimidating. Suna blinks once, twice. Doesn't apologize for him.

The fan bursts into tears, face turning splotchy and an unattractive red as she wails. "How _horrible_!" As her friend bends down to pick her phone up for her and starts to drag her away, rubbing at her shoulders comfortingly, she turns back briefly.

“Miya Atsumu, you should be ashamed of yourself,” she spits.


	3. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu can't find the line. If there ever was one.

It’s…not a public relations crisis exactly. Maybe. Honestly, Suna’s not quite sure how these things work, has never been in a situation like this before. He doesn’t quite have the same sort of followers, has never amassed the type of starstruck fan culture that Atsumu attracts. It’s not part of his job.

After the girls leave, Atsumu insists that they continue their day, acts like nothing significant has happened and drags him into one of the cafés Suna had been eyeing earlier.

The napkin designs are cute, a minimalist black cat and a curlicue that bubbles out into the shop’s name.

Atsumu orders a cold-brewed iced coffee, and Suna chooses a slice of cheesecake, which he picks at as Atsumu blathers on about nothing at all. 

Suna’s not quite sure why Atsumu’s trying to pretend like nothing’s happened, because it’s clear to him, at least, that the other is talking just for the sake of it, mind far away. Suna’s answered every question the other’s thrown at him with a noncommittal ‘okay’ for the past half hour, and Atsumu hasn’t even taken notice. 

Still, he doesn’t insist they go back yet.

He’s polishing off the last of his dessert, notices that Atsumu’s drink is still mostly full, when the blonde’s phone begins to ring, vibrating angrily against the wood.

They both watch it buzz for a while, OJIRO ARAN flashing across the screen, bright white against black, and just as Suna’s beginning to think that Atsumu’s going to let the call go to voicemail, he picks up.

“What’s up, Aran?” Atsumu asks, all casual.

Suna looks away, focuses on the little green potted plant in the corner. Lucky bamboo with an auspicious little red satchel hanging from it. Except it’s wilting a little, yellow at the edges, so maybe not so lucky.

Not looking at the other, he stands up, chair scraping against the tiled floor and heads up to the counter to pay for the both of them.

When he returns, Atsumu’s standing as well, looking petulant but also a little concerned, hands tucked in his pockets as he frowns at everything in general. His coffee sits on the table, condensation soaking the napkin.

Suna raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“They want us back.” He kicks at the floor a little. “Uh…immediately.”

The walk back is quiet, mostly. No one’s outside because no one’s as stupid as they are. 

Suna wishes fervently for air conditioning, or maybe a sudden torrent of summer rain. 

The sun is still high up above the horizon line, the sky a bright azure and the heat as unforgiving as ever. Suna lags a little, the popsicle and cheesecake sticky on his lips and sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach, and from his vantage point, he can see the back of Atsumu’s neck and shoulders, flushed red.

With the tip of his index finger, he reaches out and pokes.

“Ow, what the hell!” Atsumu flinches away, stumbles on his feet. He brings a hand up to prod at his own neck tentatively and hisses. “Fuck.”

“You’re really sunburnt,” Suna observes. He moves to touch again, and Atsumu ducks away.

“Then don’t touch me, bastard!” He hurries a few steps forward, before turning around and walking backwards to watch Suna warily.

He turns back around after almost faceplanting when he trips over his own feet.

Suna trudges along behind him, amused.

The motel is just ahead of them now, hazy in the heat, and the long grass around them whistles in the slight breeze.

Out of the blue, Atsumu speaks again. 

“Pretty shit day, huh?” His hands are linked behind his head, and his blonde hair is sweaty and swept up away from his forehead. He glances at Suna from the corner of his eye. “Sorry ‘bout that, Rin.”

“Yeah,” Suna answers. He swats at a stray mosquito.

Atsumu frowns at him, indignant. “You’re not s’posed t’ agree with me, y’know.”

“It sucked, though.” Suna holds his gaze. Atsumu looks away.

“Yeah.” It’s quiet, subdued, and unlike anything Suna’s ever heard come out of the other’s mouth. “You can say that again.” He quirks his mouth at Suna, then. “Pretty sure it’s boutta get worse.”

________________________________ 

_@atsumu_miraculous_65_  
[video]  
_5.3k replies | 68.2k retweets | 15k likes_

> _@miyastan_  
>  HELP imagine thinking suna is the manager…the look on his face
> 
>  _@petrichor_and_gold_  
>  I know I might be bashed by crazy delusional fangirls, but personally, I think the way Atsumu acted is extremely unprofessional, and frankly, scarily aggressive. No matter how these girls were acting, he should’ve handled it in a calm manner, and I’m very disappointed to see that he’s acting like a child instead. It’s part of being a celebrity, and the way he chose to act is frankly, quite shameful. #atsumuisoverparty
>
>> _@atsumusgf_  
>  suck a dick hag #atsumu_we_love_you  
>  [atsumu fancam]
> 
> _@goretwice_  
>  this should be a wake up call for everyone that u shouldn’t treat celebrities like your friends because at the end of the day, they’re strangers. they don’t know who u r and u don’t know who they r
> 
>  _@cosmoatsumu_1_  
>  idk who needs to hear this but actors are people too…don’t go up to them in public when they’re clearly not working and ask for a picture #atsumu_we_love_you
>
>> _@starrdusts_  
>  ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY TELL YOU NO THE FIRST TIME
> 
>  _@stfupigs_30_  
>  someone collar their DOG #atsumuisoverparty
> 
>  _@ctrlakira_  
>  y’all must think you’re suna or something to b riding his dick this hard…news flash he’s never gonna fuck u !! #atsumuisoverparty
> 
>  _@bokutobeam_  
>  yo….what the hell…anyway stan bokuto he would never #atsumuisoverparty
> 
>  _@toorulove_  
>  dunno why atsumu’s acting like that I mean he signed up for this when he decided to be an actor…can’t believe there are still people standing up for him…you don’t see oikawa doing shit like that
>
>> _@ratsumu_  
>  idk why ur bringing oikawa into this when it has nothing to do with him
>>
>>> _@sugarkawa_  
>  they brought up oikawa because 1) like they said oikawa would never 2) oikawa’s way more popular too so atsumu has no excuse
>>>
>>>> _@ratsumu_  
>  ??? no correlation but ok
>> 
>>  _@kosukeking_  
>  he signed up to be an ACTOR not signed up to be STALKED
> 
>  _@kokira_official_  
>  call out thread for @/atsumu_miraculous_65 because it’s concerning how many of u still follow her even though she’s literally just posted video evidence of her stalking atsumu
> 
>  _@osamusweat_  
>  lmfao wow…this is why y’all should stan the better twin #atsumuisoverparty
>
>> _@shimizugf_  
>  right because that video of osamu making out with a fan that was going around a couple of months ago is so much better
> 
>  _@httptsumu_  
>  anybody else think this is related to those privacy leaks that have been spreading atsumu’s personal information everywhere?? Hotel details? Sound familiar???

________________________________ 

It’s a public relations crisis. That’s what Ojiro Aran says.

“I let ya out of my sight for _one day_ , Atsumu.” Ojiro’s pacing around the room, voice trembling as he struggles to suppress his volume. “ _One. Day._ ” He sighs heavily and sits down on the bed, head in his hands. “I can’t believe you. I really can’t.”

“You _know_ they deserved that, Aran, come on.” The look on Atsumu’s face is sullen. “I am so _sick_ of these so-called fans gettin’ all up in m’ personal business. Touchin’ people without permission.”

Suna’s thoughts flit briefly to the light scrape of the girl’s fingernails against his forearm, the insistent tug on his sleeve.

“Did you hafta break her phone, though, Atsumu? Don’tcha think that’s overkill? For _once_ in yer life could ya do some critical thinkin’ before ya act?” He throws his hands in the air. “What you did was _vandalism_ , Atsumu. _Vandalism_.”

“Okay, then I’ll buy her a new phone. No big deal.”

“No big deal? No _big deal_?” Ojiro’s voice rises. “He doesn’t think it’s a big deal!” Ojiro looks at Suna then, incredulous, and Suna fidgets under the attention. Why he has to be here as well, he has no idea. “It’s a huge deal! The video’s all over the Internet. You’re _trending worldwide_. I had to find out about this through Twitter. Ya couldn’t have called me, given me a warnin’?” 

They lapse into tense silence. Suna holds a staring contest with the doll in the corner of the room. He can hear Atsumu swallow, and his eyes shift to the digital clock on the nightstand. It blinks at him slowly.

“You need to say sorry.”

“No fuckin’ way!” Atsumu protests. “I’m not gonna say shit. I’m not sorry for what I did.” His breathing quickens. “I’d say it all again, and I _will_ say it all again if I meet people like that again. _Fuck_ what anyone thinks” Ojiro glares. Atsumu stares back, fists clenched. “Maybe without the phone smashing,” he mumbles, slightly abashed, and then tenses, bracing himself for Ojiro’s next words.

But all Ojiro does is sigh. He scowls at Atsumu, but it’s half-hearted, and there’s something else in his expression, something Suna can’t read exactly, but what he sees looks a little like pity.

He scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling a long breath, and groans.

“I’m handling this this time, ‘cause it’s my job, and I feel bad fer ya. I’ll figure out who this girl is and get the phone situation sorted out. I’ll tell the company to write out an apology. I won’t even make ya post it on yer personal account.” He points a finger in the blonde’s face. “But one day yer gonna get sued, Atsumu, and when you are, I won’t lift a finger to help ya.”

________________________________ 

The buzz will die down soon enough, forgotten as soon as the next exciting scandal pops up. That’s what Watanabe tells them, later, before letting them go with a cheerful reminder that they shouldn’t let this affect their work. _All publicity is good publicity_ , Suna thinks darkly.

Suna, for his part, throws himself into practice. He wakes periodically during the night, thoughts a mess, his lines on the tip of his tongue. He dreams of Akira, of shadows chasing him and the long journey to break a generational curse, of sandals slapping against the ground and someone pulling him back. 

He sets his phone aside, gives the Internet a break.

He improves until not even Atsumu has anything to say against him most days. Watanabe is delighted, and when she praises him, he looks over at Kita for assurance, wants to make sure he sees. _Tangibility._

Atsumu becomes more insufferable than ever, temper short in the summer heat, reminiscent of a hunted animal, and obsesses over invisible mistakes in his own acting. He makes the crew retake scenes over and over, until Suna’s lips are sore and his neck aching.

“Again,” Atsumu demands, after Watanabe yells cut. “I messed up that last part.” Suna fights the urge to roll his eyes. He shoves Atsumu off and picks himself off the ground, brushing grit off his forearms and the back of his jeans.

“It looked good to me, Atsumu, but we can try one more time if you want. Remember, we want to keep it fresh,” she says, appeasing. “Last take,” she calls out, and the cameras start rolling again.

The lights in the club, red and blue, mix purple against his skin, wash the bar indigo-violet. Akira ducks under a swing at his face, rehearsed, grabs the wine bottle by its neck and lurches forward. Calls upon the feeling of anger, outrage. Desperation. The man goes down, and the bottle bursts in between his fingers, wet, red, alive.

He hears his name, then, turns around with eyes wide as he stares at the incoming knife. He can’t see the other’s face, pin-point focus on the metal, light glancing off dazzling. Fear grips his heart, ice-cold tendrils, and he’s frozen. No time.

Distantly, he hears his name again, closer, and then he’s bowled over into the rubble of the wreckage, neck bending awkwardly. Kosuke’s weight is heavy and suffocating on top of him, rubs against sensitive nerve endings, his own body a live wire as he comes to his senses.

An explosion sounds, a burst of heat and Kosuke outlined in bright, bright light. They’re alone.

Kosuke mouths his name, inaudible, and he can’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears. He’s really, very tired. The exhaustion is bone-deep, heavy iron in his marrow. His eyes flutter shut.

Compression against his chest, mouth-to-mouth, and he gasps back to life, like clockwork. Deathless.

Atsumu on his mouth again, tongue sliding slow and wet against his. When they separate, there’s a thin trail of spit between Suna’s mouth and Atsumu’s. It’s disgusting, and honestly, a little lewd. Suna curls his lip. He has doubts on whether that will make it into the final cut.

Atsumu connects them again, teeth scraping against the inside of Suna’s bottom lip, and his hand comes to the back of Suna’s neck for a better angle. Suna opens his mouth, willingly.

When Watanabe yells cut, he pushes the other off, gently. Stands up and walks off scene. Atsumu sits back on his haunches and licks his lips.

________________________________ 

The whole cast goes out the day they finish filming. It’s an informal affair, come and go whenever, and Watanabe buys out the bar, so drinks are free for the night.

Suna tries coaxing Kita into shots, but his manager shakes his head, content to nurse on his beer. Eventually, he slinks away when the very tall stylist, Oomimi something-or-other, steals Kita’s attention away from him. What kind of opener “Hi, um, Kita, correct?” is, after being co-workers for the better half of the summer, Suna doesn’t know.

Four shots in, it’s easier to mingle with others, and he manages a halfway-decent conversation with one of his co-actors, Rika, who had played Akira’s overbearing sister.

It’s when Atsumu suddenly appears, hands splayed on Suna’s waist as he edges behind him to his side, and slings an arm over his shoulder, that Suna puts his finger on what was missing, realizes why it felt too quiet, somehow. 

“Miya,” he greets. “I thought I heard your obnoxious voice.” 

“Rintarou, my man! What’s with the attitude, someone piss’d in your cereal? It's okay to say you were miserable without me.” He looks at Rika, fingers curling around Suna’s upper arm. Tilts his head. “No offense, Rika.”

She laughs, brushes it off with a magnanimous flap of her hand. A ring winks at them.

“None taken.” She pulls out her phone, looks at the time. “It’s pretty late. I’ll leave you two to it, then.” She grins at them, teeth flashing white under the dim lights. “Suna, you have my number, keep in touch, okay?” And with that, she’s gone.

“Her number, huh?” Atsumu nudges him. “Get it.”

“She’s engaged, dumbass.”

“Huh? How d’ya figure?” Atsumu looks back into the crowd, contemplative. “You’re not plannin’ on homewreckin’, are ya?”

Suna snorts, doesn’t answer.

The music changes, suddenly, something slow and rolling, bass heavy and voice so low Suna can barely make out the words. It vibrates all the way to his fingertips.

“Oh my God. Someone change the fuckin’ music,” Atsumu whines, slapping his hands over his ears.

“What’s wrong with you?” People turn to glance at them, looking away when they find Suna staring back.

“Ya don’t know this song? This is ‘Samu’s music,” Atsumu groans. “Fuckin’ nasty.”

“Oh. Your brother, right?” Miya Osamu. A fairly well-known name in the industry, idol with a sizeable fanbase. Famous enough that Suna recognizes the name. Miya _twins_.

“Un _for_ tunately. Didja know he has,” Atsumu pauses, looking like he just swallowed something incredibly sour. “Has sex to his own music? Who does that?”

“Not gonna ask how you know that, but okay.” Osamu’s voice drops away, leaving only the reverberating beat. “Hot voice, though.” Suna slides a smile over, then. “I could be into it.”

Atsumu grimaces. “I’m too sober for this.”

“Let me buy you a drink.” Suna grins. He can do with another one, himself. A couple more shots. The music has him feeling jittery, restless. He pulls on Atsumu’s arm, leads him, hand to shoulder, to the bar.

“They’re free, fuckin’ jackass.” Atsumu shoves at him. Doesn’t dislodge his hand. “Whatever,” he says, as he trails behind him.

1 AM, and the world is kaleidoscope. Suna finds himself leaning heavily on Atsumu, solid and sturdy. The lights make his hair go iridescent.

Someone offers Atsumu up to do body shots, and he agrees easily, voice this side of too loud and smile a little uncontrolled. Everyone cheers.

He tugs at Suna’s wrist.

“You up for it?”

Suna disentangles himself. Shakes his head, and _whoa_ waits a little as everything spins.

“Nah,” Suna says. “Kinda tired.” He looks into the crowd, squinting. Kita’s nowhere to be seen either.

“Aww, what?” There’s a look on the blonde’s face, indecipherable, and Suna doesn’t have the energy to try to make sense of it. He scratches at the side of his neck. “You wanna get outta here instead?” Atsumu offers then, lowering his voice, hands shoved in his pockets.

“No, it’s fine, you have fun. I’m probably just gonna head back, actually.”

“Need me to walk ya?”

Suna gives him a weird look. “I think I’m good, thanks. Not that drunk. Don’t wanna make you walk back out here after, either.”

He steps away.

“Well, then.” He shrugs. “See ya.” Suna leaves with an awkward half-wave behind him.

________________________________ 

Suna startles awake to the sound of someone banging on the door to his room. He’d fallen asleep face down on top of the covers, still dressed in the clothes he’d worn out to the bar. The lights are still on.

If his mom could see him now, she’d despair at how he’s turned out. _Always take off the bed covers of hotel beds, Rintarou. They never wash those._

He stumbles upright. Pulls the cover off, letting it sag to the ground.

His mouth tastes like gin and whatever else had been in that last shot. Whoever’s outside can wait, he decides. 

Minty-fresh and all traces of drool gone, Suna moves to his door. His hair is untamable, but he knows a lost cause when he sees one.

The knocking has stopped. It’s possible whoever it was has left, which, whatever, it must not have been that important then.

When he opens the door, Atsumu, who must have been leaning against it, topples forward into him.

“What the fuck.” His nose is buried in Atsumu’s hair. “You smell.” _Like sex_ , his mind supplies. 

He pushes the other upright, maneuvers him around so he can shut the door.

“What are you doing here.” It is far, far too late to be putting up with whatever nonsense Atsumu has in mind. Suna has half a mind to open the door again and shove him out. But he doesn’t. Doesn’t dwell on that either.

“Can’t a guy miss a guy without you makin’ a fuss?” Atsumu mumbles.

Suna tugs at the collar of Atsumu’s shirt, pulls it down, and yup, hickeys if he’s ever seen them.

“What, she still in your bed and you decided to run away or something?” He lets go of the other suddenly, feeling a little mean-spirited, and Atsumu flops down without the support. His elbow hits the light switch on the way down, and the room goes dark. 

“No.” comes the answer, drifting up sticky slow. “Paid for her taxi and everything. Room’s empty.” Somehow, that doesn’t make Suna feel any better. He nudges at the body with his toe.

On the ground, Atsumu groans. “Stop. I’m gonna throw up.”

“If you do it on the carpet I’ll kick you out. Move your ass to the toilet.” Suna jerks the other up, navigates the both of them to the bathroom, and makes Atsumu kneel in front of the toilet.

After a few minutes of gagging, Atsumu stands up. Flushes. Suna hands him a cup of mouthwash, wordlessly. 

Blue swirls down the drain.

“It wasn’t a fan was it?”

“Who isn’t a fan of me?” is the slurred answer. “They’re all fans.” Atsumu straightens from his position hunched over the sink, moves to cage Suna in against the wall. Suna lets him.

It’s different from what he’s used to. Like this, they’re face to face. He’s taller, even. Not anyone else.

“I’d never fuck a fan,” he mumbles into Suna’s neck. Then, “ _You_ sure weren’t a fan. Didn’t like me much when ya first saw me. Mean as hell.”

“Still don’t like you, Miya.”

“Liar.”

It’s really late. And late nights make Suna’s head pound. If he’s really unlucky, he’ll wake up with a sore throat tomorrow.

“I’m gonna go to bed.”

He brings his fingers to the other’s shoulders, nudges him away. Atsumu brings his own hands back, holds Suna’s hands in twin grips.

“You’re always pushin’ me away,” he complains, but he stops there and doesn’t pursue the topic. Instead, he pulls him closer by the hands, drapes Suna’s hands over his shoulders and brings his own arms to hold him by the waist.

He sways them slowly from side to side, hums something nonsensical.

“Dance wit’ me, Rin,” he smiles, indulgent.

“You are so fucking drunk,” Suna mutters.

Atsumu moves his arms lower, to hold Suna by the hips, familiar, and shuffles them backwards until they topple onto the bed.

Suna bounces on the mattress, once, before twisting his body away, so it’s not crushed underneath Atsumu’s weight. Instinctually, one of his hands finds its way to the back of the blonde’s head, fingers threading through thick hair, the other spread against the bed.

They lie like that, and it’s quiet except for the sounds of their breathing. The city lights, flickering white to green to red, sift in beneath the drawn curtains.

Suna can feel the shift of Atsumu’s arm over his chest as he breathes in and out.

“You know,” Atsumu whispers, mouth tickling Suna’s ear, “I don’t fuck fans.”

“So you’ve said,” Suna says into the shadows, shrinking back when it comes out loud against the dark. “Someone on the crew, then?” he says, softer, morbidly curious despite himself. Then, “ _Watanabe_?”

He turns his head at that, bringing them nose to nose.

Atsumu huffs out an incredulous breath, and it’s warm against his upper lip. “What? No way. I’m not the one with a boner for her.” A sigh. “No one we know. Left soon after you did and went somewhere else. It was random. No one.”

Suna hums. “You shouldn’t have come here. What if I decided not to open my door?” _What if someone had seen you_? What would they think, then. What does Suna think. He doesn't know.

There’s no reply for so long that Suna begins to think that the other’s fallen asleep. His own eyelids are drooping.

“Remember Nikko? Th’ hot springs?”

“And Ojiro busted your ass? The way your shoulders were peeling for days after? How could I forget?”

Atsumu laughs quietly.

“Yeah.” Suna closes his eyes. “Y’know, that wasn’t th’ first time I saw those girls.” He follows the curve of Atsumu’s ear with the tip of his index finger, slowly, back and forth. 

Atsumu continues. “Them, and others, follow me around, like some fuckin’ bloodhounds or somethin’. Spread m’ hotel and airline details around in their little group chats.”

“People like that,” he whispers. “Can’t tell the diff’rence between reality and their fantasies.”

Suna can feel Atsumu move, and the bed dips as he shifts onto his elbow, jostling him a little. With his eyes closed, Suna can feel the heat of him, hovering above him close and present, feel the faintest puff of warm air against his lips as Atsumu bends down slightly, lingers.

Atsumu smells like sweat and tequila and a woman’s perfume.

Suna waits, and his eyelids feel weighed down. He doesn't open his eyes.

Atsumu sags back down, buries his face in Suna’s neck, and Suna’s lips are cold again. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one or two more chapters left after this!


	4. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu misses out on lobster and a few other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change! Nothing too spicy, though lol. Also the additional tags

**Review: ‘All Night Long’ Treads the Fine Line in Human Morality as it Explores Relationships of Our Youth**

> **All Night Long** _NYT Critic’s Pick_ | _Directed by Sara Watanabe_  
>  _Crime, Drama, Mystery, Romance, Thriller_ | _Not Rated_ | _2h 37m_

By Keiji Akaashi (The New York Times)

Taking place in modern-day Japan, Watanabe’s _All Night Long_ , is a fantasy about two college-aged boys and a generational curse that seeps into their relationship. 

An adaptation of a popular Japanese Boy’s Love manga, _Day and Night_ , _All Night Long_ is a long-time pet project of Watanabe’s, an ambitious work right after winning her first major award.

The initial reveal of a somewhat controversial cast consisting of sensational TV drama actor Miya Atsumu to play Kosuke and model Suna Rintarou as Akira led many long-time fans of the manga to doubt the outcome of such an undertaking without major veteran players.

Despite public doubts and threats of boycotting, however, Miya’s and Suna’s seductive chemistry is undeniable to even the amateur viewer.

Set between a backdrop of Tokyo’s gritty, neon nightlife and the quietude of mountain shrines, the duality of human nature and the question of personal autonomy, is explored - dissected.

Introduced to the audience as a kind-natured, unassuming college student, Kosuke confronts his childhood friend Akira after years of estrangement in the initial stages of the movie. Watanabe’s attention to detail – a butterfly glance unseen, a slip of the shoulder, a sleeve unthreaded – cumulate to expose the intimacies and subtle powerplay between the two protagonists.

As the movie progresses, the lines between delusion and reality are distorted as the characters follow a path of uncertainty in attempt to lift a curse adamant against its removal.

Perhaps blinded by his single-minded dedication to Akira, Kosuke plays an unreliable narrator, and his confrontation with his own morality – how far he is willing to go for someone he loves – leaves the audience questioning themselves as well.

Full Review

________________________________ 

Suna fiddles with the top button of his dress shirt as he looks in the mirror. Buttoned or unbuttoned, he wonders aloud. 

“Jus’ take the whole thing off,” snarks a voice. It sniffles, mucus clear through the speaker phone. “Give th’ people wha’ they want.”

Suna slides a glance over to where his phone is propped up on his desk. “Blow your nose, Miya. How old are you?”

Unbuttoned, he thinks. Who has dress codes for their birthday parties anyway? He slides a thin silver chain around his neck and fiddles with the clasp.

“You blow me,” is the soured reply. Then, the harsh sound of Atsumu emptying the contents of his nose into a tissue.

Suna ignores the wobbly feeling in his stomach. “In your dreams.”

“Yeah, and what about it?” It’s quiet, then, except for the sound of Atsumu’s snuffling. Suna’s stomach swoops. He should reply, he knows. Should joke back about it like he usually does, but the words escape him. Through the screen of his phone he can see the ceiling of Atsumu’s apartment, the peripheries of the view blurry from the other’s blankets.

How awkward. Maybe Suna should throw his phone out the window? Watch as it drops ten meters down the side of the building and shatters against the ground. 

“Rin?” Atsumu picks up the phone, and his face fills the screen. It’s an unflattering angle, and his nose is red from constant friction. “Ya still there?”

“Unfortunately,” he says back, gruff. He clears his throat. “You seriously look like shit.” Suna moves the pile of discarded clothing from his desk to his bed. He pokes around at the small pile of jewelry on the stand. “Hoops or studs, do you think?”

“Th’ bigger the hoop, th’ bigger the hoe,” Atsumu singsongs. Suna rolls his eyes, but smiles, picking out a pair of small silver earrings.

“You really can’t come?” he asks as he hooks them through his piercings. He assesses himself in the mirror. It’s formal-ish. Good enough.

“Does it look like I can make it through the night?” Atsumu shoves the phone closer to his face and opts for a pitiful look, mouth pursed in a simpering pout. His eyes are watery, red-rimmed, and his eyelashes are very long.

Suna looks away. “Don’t do that. I can see your nose hairs.”

“What?” Atsumu squawks. “No, ya can’t.” He pulls the phone further away, pouting, and turns over in his bed. “You should skip. Come over an’ be m’ sexy nurse.”

Suna snorts, thankful his hair’s been growing out a little and is long enough to cover the tips of his ears, which are heating up. “Can’t, you big baby. I promised Rika I’d be there.” Rika, who is not engaged anymore, but _married_ , and is celebrating her thirtieth birthday with a fancy, expensive as all hell semi-formal party. Suna loves older women.

“Rika, this, Rika, that” Atsumu mutters. “I knew you were a homewreckin’ bastard.” He sneezes again, and the screen goes black as he lays his phone on his chest to reach over for a tissue.

Suna laughs again. “I’ll have someone deliver food over later for you. Mo’s Burgers okay? I think the lobster at the party might be too much for your stomach, otherwise I’d steal some away for you.” He moves away from the phone to look back at the mirror, holding a chunk of hair up away from his face between thumb and forefinger. Maybe he should pin it up?

He digs around his desk for some bobby pins.

“Fuck you, Rin,” he hears. “Hey, where’d ya go?”

“Jus’ at the mirror,” Suna replies around a mouthful of pins. He fastens one over a lock of his hair.

“Well, you can’t see, but ‘m showin’ ya my middle finger.” A loud grumble. “Free lobster. Of all days t’ be sick,” Atsumu groans.

Suna hums absentmindedly in reply, focusing.

It’s comfortable silence for the next ten minutes, and Suna finishes getting ready. Satisfied, he turns back to his phone.

He lips curl up at the corners faintly as he glances down at the screen. “Hey, don’t sleep like that, Miya. It’s bad for your spine.” Atsumu is planted face down on the pillow, breathing through his mouth since his nose is blocked.

“Like you can say anythin’ about posture,” is the muffled response. Suna frowns and straightens.

“Okay, fine, fuck up your back. Like I care.”

Atsumu reaches blindly for the phone. “’M jus’ jokin’ with ya. You’re beautiful even with the hunched back of an eighty-year-old man. Not everyone can pull off th’ sexy slouch look.”

He sits up, then, blankets sliding off. Suna is greeted with Atsumu’s bare chest, and he inhales sharply.

Atsumu rubs at his eyes, yawning. “Okay, show me what you got, then you c’n go.” 

Tilting the phone for a better angle, Suna stands back stiffly, so the majority of his body is in frame. He’s filled with the absurd thought that he should strike a pose or something. 

Atsumu blinks at him from the screen, staring for so long, Suna begins to squirm.

“Well?” he asks. “If it’s shit, keep it to yourself. I have to leave in,” he leans forward, squinting, to look at the time on his phone. “Five minutes.”

“No, uh,” Atsumu opens and closes his mouth wordlessly. “You look great. Perfect.” He coughs and gathers himself. “Passable, I mean.” He shrugs and looks off to the side.

Suna smiles at him, sweetly. “Okay. Cool.” Atsumu grins back. “Thanks.” Suna’s thumb hovers over the red ‘End Call’ button. “See you later, then, Miya.”

________________________________ 

_@day_and_night_trans_  
(ENG SUB) 20XX0813 All Night Long Backstage Interview Transcript Excerpt

 **Interviewer** : This question’s for Atsumu. This role is a pretty big difference from your last one. Last time you were the secondary male love interest, a delinquent, and it was a TV series. This time, Kosuke’s the protagonist, and his personality couldn’t be further from the “bad boy” persona, and it’s a complete movie. Some would consider this an upgrade. Which do you prefer and why?

 **Atsumu** : Well, I wouldn’t say I have a preference. It was definitely an honor to be asked by Watanabe to play Kosuke, though. In the end, acting is acting, I think. I’m an actor because that’s what I love. If it’s a role that interests me, I’ll accept. And if I take on the part, I’m gonna do my best.

 **Interviewer** : That’s a good answer. Very diplomatic. [ _He laughs._ ]

 **Atsumu** : Just sayin’ it how it is, man. [ _He shrugs._ ]

 **Interviewer** : [ _laughs_ ] Right. Moving on. Suna. You must have been surprised to be casted for this movie! Before _All Night Long_ , it would have been far more likely for someone to see you on the cover of _Men’s Non-no_ than in a movie. How was it, being an actor?

 **Suna** : Um, it definitely wasn’t something I expected. I know a lot of people were probably surprised as well. [ _Atsumu snorts, and Suna elbows him._ ] It was fun, though. I wouldn’t be opposed to other offers in the acting industry. [ _He raises his eyebrows at the camera._ ]

 **Interviewer** : Was it hard, though? Making the transition as a complete newbie? Were there times where you wished you were back to just a model?

 **Suna** : It was fine. Practice makes perfect, right? And I wouldn’t say “just a model” or “just an actor”. They’re both jobs like any other. It’s not really a question of difficulty. [ _He pauses, smiles slightly._ ] But nothing like a healthy dose of criticism to help you improve. [ _Atsumu laughs._ ]

 **Interviewer** : Oh? Is there a story there?

 **Suna** : Nah. [ _He doesn’t continue._ ]

 **Interviewer** : Alright. So we’re curious, then, of course. Was it hard to do the kissing scenes? Considering, [ _he gestures vaguely._ ]

 **Atsumu** : Considering what?

 **Interviewer** : Considering, well, both of you are guys. I mean, it must be different from what you’re used to.

 **Suna** : No, it wasn’t hard. I think it was great. [ _He smiles._ ] Very erotic. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.

[ _Atsumu laughs._ ]

________________________________ 

As soon as arrives, he’s greeted by an excited call of his name and a happy, lipstick-y kiss on the cheek.

“Rintarou,” Rika trills. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She beams up at him, pleased, and Suna can’t help but smile back. The party’s already in full swing and from the blush on her cheeks, it’s clear that she’s been enjoying the drinks.

“And deal with your nagging for the rest of my life if I missed it?” he jokes back, pulling her into a quick side hug. “Happy birthday, Rika. Almost middle-aged now.”

“So mean! Young people nowadays, don’t know how to respect their elders,” she exclaims. “And you missed the wedding! If you didn’t come to my birthday, I’d think you secretly hated me or something,” she pouts.

“I know, and I’m really sorry about that.” The months surrounding the release of _All Night Long_ had been complete chaos, and Suna had considered himself lucky if he left the house with both shoes tied. It was only through Kita’s supernatural managing skills that he’d made it to all his schedules in one piece.

Already one of the members of the cast with which he was more comfortable, after the filming ended, Rika and Suna had gotten closer. The wedding had managed to coincide with a mandatory press conference, and Suna had sent over a remorseful bouquet of flowers and necklace to Rika as an apology for missing it. 

Rika makes him bend down, so she can pat his cheek fondly. “I’m just messing with you. You work so hard.” She holds him back at arms-length and gives him a look-over. “Your hair is so cute. You look so handsome, today. Going to make my husband jealous,” she giggles.

Suna laughs. “He’s a lucky man, what can I say.” He glances around. “Where is he anyway?”

“Getting me a glass of water. Isn’t that sweet? He should be back soon. I wanted you two to meet!” She clasps his hand in hers. “No Atsumu, though?” She looks around as if Suna might be hiding 188 cm of annoying jackass behind him. 

“Ah, yeah.” Suna moves to scratch at the back of his head before remembering that it’s pinned up and aborts the movement. “He’s pretty sick. He says happy birthday, though.” He didn’t. Suna thinks about Atsumu’s rants of infidelity and struggles to keep the amusement from showing on his face.

Rika tilts her head, looking at him thoughtfully. “There’s someone else here you might be interested in meeting. Get to know the family, if you know what I mean.”

Before Suna can ask about what she means by that, they’re interrupted by the arrival of Rika’s husband. Suna exchanges a polite, stilted handshake with him and idles around as Rika introduces the both of them. They make a cute couple, even if her husband seems like the quiet, awkward sort. 

After a while, he makes his excuses and backs away to give them time to themselves.

A couple hours later, Suna finds himself swirling a champagne flute around distractedly, nodding as the man opposite talks at him. A friend of a friend of Rika’s, apparently, so he should be polite, but unfortunately the man’s not very interesting. 

Rika’s party is nice. She’s definitely getting her money’s worth, that’s for sure, he thinks, draining his glass. This is high quality stuff. He snaps a picture and sends it to Atsumu.

“- possibility. Are you even listening to me?” The man snips at him and reaches for the hand holding his phone to grip at his wrist. Suna’s fingers spam a random string of letters into the text box.

Suna pries the other’s loose, sweaty fingers from himself disdainfully. He’s not quite sure what the other was trying to accomplish with that. Suna’s at least ten centimeters taller than him and broader across the shoulders as well.

“No. And don’t touch me.”

“Touchy,” the other mocks him. “Fuck me for trying to be nice and talk to you when you were sitting by yourself then, I guess.” He stands up and shoves at the table angrily before walking away. 

His abandoned wine glass teeters precariously, and Suna stretches out, just managing to grip it by its crystal lip, even as it spills red all over his front.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He sets the wine glass back down gingerly and rises from his seat, dabbing at his shirt, which is going translucent. It’s one of his favorite pieces, a gift from some designer brand, and even though it had technically been free, he’s pissed that it’s been destroyed like this. Maybe it’s salvageable if he hurries?

He’s walking and scrolling through his phone for a list of nearby dry cleaners when he bumps into someone.

“Whoa,” he’s stopped by twin hands on his shoulders and a low voice. “You okay, there?”

He glances up, about to brush off the other person’s polite concern, when he does a double take. 

“Miya?” Miya Atsumu’s standing in front of him in the flesh, same thick eyebrows over dark eyes, same inviting mouth. “Wait.”

“Call me Osamu,” Osamu says and smiles at him. His gaze rakes slowly down the length of Suna’s body, down and then back up, settling on his lips. He flicks his eyes back up to make contact with Suna’s stare. “Suna, right? I’ve heard so much about ya.”

Suna steps back, wary. “Hey.” At second glance, this clearly isn’t Atsumu. Identical twins for sure, but this one’s got hair dark as night and lacks the cocksure smirk Atsumu wears like a second skin. The atmosphere is completely different. “Sorry I can’t say the same. All I know is you have sex to your own music.”

Osamu laughs, surprised, and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ ‘Tsumu.” He approaches, and Suna slides his phone into his pocket, shirt forgotten.

This one’s smiles don't reach his eyes.

“Ya look like you were in a hurry there,” Osamu says. He falls in close beside Suna like he belongs and begins walking the both of them towards the exit, the heat of his hand on the small of Suna’s back. Suna doesn’t brush him off.

“Ah, yeah.” Suna peers down at his ruined shirt. “Got some wine spilled on me. Think it’s about time for me to leave anyway.”

They’re outside now, and the night air nips at his nose, cooling his heated face.

“My car’s over there.” Osamu jerks a thumb in a direction behind them. The streetlights highlight the sharp planes of his face, casting the rest of his form into shadow, and they transform him into something unknowable. “You comin’? I can get ya outta that shirt.”

Suna looks at him askance.

“That usually work on people you plan on fucking?”

 _When did it get so cold?_ he wonders. The material of his shirt is sticky and chilling rapidly against his skin. Summer feels a lifetime ago.

“I dunno. Is it workin’ on you?” Osamu’s twirling his keyring around his index finger and staring him in the eye, waiting for his answer.

Suna purses his lips. He follows Osamu to the car.

The inside of his car is even colder, the leather seats cool against his touch, and Suna rubs his hands together as Osamu starts up the engine.

“Pretty cold, huh? Sorry ‘bout that. Should warm up in a few minutes.” He turns to look at Suna, elbow on the armrest of the center console. “I’d appreciate it if ya didn’t drip onto the seats, by the way.”

“Huh?” Suna looks down. “Oh, right.” He bunches his shirt between his fingers, gathering the spoiled portion into a ball, and the action makes his shirt gape open. There’s definitely no saving it now, he thinks. Whatever. Fuck the shirt.

Osamu’s gaze is admiring. “You sure are pretty. ‘Tsumu’s one lucky bastard.” Suna twitches, irritated. Osamu means the movie, probably.

“You usually talk about your brother to dates?” He sneers at him. “Can’t imagine that’s a turn on.”

“Guess not,” Osamu shrugs. “You’re still here though, aren’t ya?” He’s right. Suna clenches his teeth and looks out the window without answering.

“Aww, come on. Don’t be mad. This’ll be fun for th’ both of us.” Osamu tilts Suna’s chin to face him, fingers light. “You really can leave if ya want, y’know?”

Suna rolls his eyes but allows himself to relax a little. He’s not doing anything wrong. Osamu’s hot, and all this is is one fun night.

He brings an arm around the other’s neck, pulling him closer until their lips touch. Osamu capitalizes on the touch eagerly, pushing Suna back against the window, a little harsh so his head knocks against the glass, and kisses him until they’re both panting.

“Okay.” Osamu’s hands still by his hips. Suna loosens his grip around the other's collar, hands uncrumpling the fabric, and Osamu pulls himself back into his own seat reluctantly. “Okay. I’m gonna drive now.” There’s a slight wet spot on his own shirt from where he’d been leaning on Suna.

The drive back is relatively quiet. It’s not uncomfortable, but neither of them have much to say to each other. Osamu’s phone plays old city pop softly, and Suna gazes out the window, drums his fingers against the armrest and watches the lights of the night rush by, here and then gone.

It’s only interrupted briefly when Osamu’s phone lights up with a notification. His lock screen is a photo of himself and another freckle-faced boy, someone with round eyes and a bashful grin. His hair sticks up in an unruly cowlick, and he’s laughing at something Osamu’s just said. It’s a candid of them, taken by someone else, and Osamu is gazing at the other with an indecipherable look on his face. 

He looks awfully like Atsumu like that, Suna realizes, and he looks away.

________________________________ 

As soon as Suna steps into Osamu’s bedroom, the other pushes him to sit on the bed and straddles him, fingers working at the remaining buttons of his shirt.

“See? Promised I’d get ya outta this shirt,” he says, leaning down to mouth at the base of Suna’s neck. His tongue is hot and wet as he laves at his collarbones, and Suna gasps, hands coming up to grip at Osamu’s shoulders.

“Yeah. You did,” he says, knuckles whitening. He lists his neck back to give the other better access. His hair is falling out of its pins, and the dark strands tickle his cheek.

Osamu’s teeth pull gently at the chain around his neck. “Keep just this on, Suna?” he asks, looking up at him from beneath thick lashes. Suna nods, throat tight.

“Osamu,” he says. He cups Osamu’s face in his hands, stares into eyes unfamiliar, and tilts backwards onto the bed, bringing the other down with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!!!!! one chapter left everyone :^)


	5. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suna knocks on Atsumu's door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't that important, but I went back and changed Akira's last name to fit better with the day/night theme lol.
> 
> Name meanings:  
> Tsukiyomi Akira:  
> \- Tsukiyomi meaning moon god or something along those lines  
> \- Akira (明) meaning bright/intelligent. Also interestingly is a combination of 日=sun and 月=moon  
> Kosuke: rising sun
> 
> Feel free to correct me

“You okay over there? Lookin’ kinda lost.” Suna glances over at the other man, sees that Osamu is handing him a wet towelette and accepts, wiping absently at his stomach. He scowls at the cool feel. “Been lookin' kinda lost since I first saw ya, actually.”

“You make a habit of picking up strays?” Suna replies, distracted with digging through the pockets of his slacks, pooled on the ground, for his phone.

“Not particul’rly, no.” Osamu’s voice is deadpan. “Speakin’ of, I’m not available, by the way, if that’s what ya wanted.”

“Great, I wasn’t wondering.”

“Right, ‘cause you didn’t look available either.” Osamu laughs, then, and Suna looks up sharply before turning away, too fast. He sinks into the pillow, throwing an arm up over his eyes.

“Not going to question your moral code, I guess,” Suna replies, dry, thinking of Osamu’s obvious intent at the party. Blunt, blunt, blunt. The twins really are one and the same.

Osamu laughs at him, again. “Seriously, though, the sex that bad?” he jokes. 

Suna mumbles, “If you’re trying to fish for compliments, it’s not gonna work.”

“Because yer lookin’ kinda heartbroken over there,” the other continues. Suna doesn’t bother mentioning that from this angle, there’s no way Osamu can even see his face, and as far as he’s concerned, this is just his everyday expression. “And it’s none of my business, and normally I wouldn’t care, but I got a feelin’ my brother’s involved. So, you know.”

He says this, and it’s casual, like he hasn’t just sunk his nails in deep and exposed the insides of Suna’s guts to the world.

Osamu sits back down on the bed, and Suna can feel the dip in the mattress as he does so, aware of the gap between them, stretching three handspans and a phantom’s shoulder breadth.

The words make Suna’s pulse race, bruising against his veins, and not in the sexy way, unfortunately. His heart beats the way it does after he’s just finished sprinting, when it’s still struggling to process that there’s nothing else left from which to run away.

He thinks if he moved his arm out of the way, looked into Osamu’s face and saw him right now, everything would come spilling right out. So he doesn’t, because Osamu is not Atsumu and has never been.

Osamu doesn’t make move to touch him or apologize for intruding, and Suna’s glad for it. He feels funny all over, hyperaware of the slide of the sheets, the dampness of his bangs, the slight stickiness still clinging to his skin, and the cooling rag in his hand. Bared.

He doesn’t know what kind of expression he’s making right now, but in the end, it ceases to matter.

“I didn’t ask you to be my therapist, Osamu,” he says, and he’s impressed by the steadiness of his voice.

“And I’m not tryna be, Suna. But I think you know what I’m talkin’ about.”

 _What about you?_ Suna wants to throw back, irked. He thinks about the plain boy with the freckles, someone he wouldn’t give a second glance if he passed by on the street, someone who makes Osamu laugh, and he remembers Osamu’s now not-smile and music so loud it tries to drown out the creaking of the bedsprings.

Osamu sings about _hunger_ , and he sings like a man starving.

 _Don’t you think you’re being a big, fat hypocrite?_ But what else can one expect from a Miya? It's an ugly thought, and he hates himself for it. If anyone's a hypocrite, it's him.

He doesn’t say any of that, of course, because he thinks if he did, Osamu might really throw him out into the street, no matter what _if, maybe, something_ he is to Atsumu. And if Suna knows anything, it’s self-preservation.

“Why do I have to make the move?” He screws his eyes closed and lets his arm drop, knowing it makes him sound young. Immature. Here, he is inexperienced because being wanted is different from _wanting_. And, now, Suna wants.

“’Tsumu’s kinda dense. You know how he feels, but if you don’t do anythin’ ‘bout it, he’s never gonna push.” Osamu’s tone is derisive, but there remains a thread of fondness, spring clear. And Suna thinks he gets it. Atsumu divides his life into sharp little boundaries, professional until the end. It’s part of what makes him such a good actor, why fans out-of-line drive him completely nuts.

“You know, we were supposed to debut as an idol duo,” Osamu says, then. Suna does know, because Atsumu’s mentioned it before, if only to claim he could do better than his brother, and he nods. “He quit right before the signing, no warnin’, decided he hated the idea of selling–“

“Selling the fantasy,” Suna breathes out, the words tumbling out, dislodging from where, in the dark, Atsumu had first stuck them somewhere in his chest that one red-green night. 

He is not Atsumu’s fan, and Atsumu has no obligations towards him.

He opens his eyes and the room is bright, white sheets, white ceiling. He already knew the answer. Because Atsumu, blunt, blunt, blunt, has been obvious this whole time.

“Yup.” The other sighs, and it sounds of past weariness. “Agency was furious as you c’n expect.”

“He tends to gravitate towards that sort of response,” Suna observes.

Osamu snorts. “You can say that again.”

The lapse into silence, and it stretches on, but for the first time that night, Suna feels like he can breathe, like someone’s carved a little window in the glass of Tokyo’s light pollution, and he can finally see the faint twinkling of the stars beyond.

It’s almost daybreak.

________________________________ 

Suna’s had this dream before, he knows, and it starts off the same way it always does. 

The stylist is kneeling at his feet, fiddling with the zippers at the bottom of his trousers and from his position, Suna can see the top of the other's blonde head, tinged blue from the indigo stain of his sunglasses. 

The block print sweater is itchy against his skin, cropped high.

Someone else is working on his eyebrows, and Suna shifts his gaze forward and tries not to fidget. His shoes, black lacquered beetle shell sheen, are definitely the wrong size.

The stylist is standing up now and seems to be hesitating. “We’ve done this before,” he says, like he always does.

Suna tilts his head in acknowledgement. They have, multiple times. Hissing, his makeup artist taps him on the side of the neck with the handle of her brush in reprimand, and he straightens again.

The other seems to wait, as if for something more, but Suna doesn’t know what it is that’s expected of him. 

The moment passes. 

“Knock ‘em dead,” the stylist decides on, instead. Suna squints, trying to focus on the man in front of him, but it’s hard, and his face blurs like fog dissipating in the morning. Opens his mouth to say thank you, but the words don’t come. The other brushes his knuckles along the slant of his shoulders, brief, and pats him one more time, firmly, before walking away and fading into the clutter of the background.

He’s directed aside, then, to pose and take photos with the other models backstage, before he is ushered into line.

“Five minutes until show time!” someone yells, and if he focuses, Suna can hear the soft strum of guitar from over the speakers.

Something feels wrong, and he motions one of the assistants over.

“I think I’m missing something,” he tells her, urgent, then gives his name and number when she asks for it. She’s back a moment later with a short sketch and list, and she goes through each item, perfunctory.

“No? I think that’s everything.” She smiles at him, gentle, and her lips are painted rose red. Matte. “First time jitters? Take a few breaths, you’ll be fine.” Then, she, too, is gone.

Suna faces forward again, bemused. The line starts to move.

Ahead of him, Sakusa, haloed in light as he steps forward, black heel flashing, disappears, and another assistant at the front beckons to him.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Suna’s on stage, and he walks forward. The runway is set up in such a way that the audience dissolves in black, with only occasional photo flashes lighting up their silhouettes.

He feels eyes on him, and it’s usual, but this time he badly wants to meet someone’s gaze. He fights the urge to look behind him and continues.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. The next model should be on the runway as well now. 

The peculiar feeling persists, and Suna begins to realize that the ground ahead of him is stretching on and on and on. He can’t see Sakusa anymore, just the lighted pathway and the heavy awareness of everyone’s scrutiny.

 _Wake up_ , his mind screams at him. _It’s easy_. And usually this is where the dream stops, but he’s done hiding, and he has to figure out what he’s missing. 

So he clings to sleep and begins to rush, bending down briefly to toss aside shoes that have been pinching his toes, strides lengthening.

 _Hurry, hurry_ , something whispers, and now he’s really breaking a sweat. The ground thuds under his bare feet, stage tape digging into his soles, but ahead it is still empty, empty, empty. The crowd is shouting something, unimportant, but he cranes his neck to look outwards, just in case. Just in case Atsumu – 

_Stop running away_ , and he realizes he’s heading in the wrong direction.

He turns around then, slipping against the ground in his haste, and sprints.

________________________________ 

**Suna** : hey u free today?

 **Miya** : yeah why?

 **Miya** : u coming over? ;) ;) ;)

 **Suna** : idk maybe

 **Miya** : [ _Loved “idk maybe”._ ]

________________________________ 

The walk from the train station to Atsumu’s place is brisk. Suna buries his nose in the high collar of his light jacket, the slight autumn wind blowing his hair from his face. It’s colder than it usually would be at this time of the year, and his hands grip the neck of the wine bottle tighter, the dark glass cool against his palms. 

This morning, it had showered, and Suna had watched the grey sheets of rain pour down the side of the window. An excuse to stall a little.

His mood had swung from bubbly relief at finally coming clean to nervous anxiety that something was inevitably going to go wrong, before he’d forced himself to push the thoughts aside and take a shower, realizing that this was no mindset for a confession.

He sidesteps a puddle now, although the bottom of his trousers still ends up soaked, and turns onto a narrow side street, hidden away from the public eye.

The security guard at the front, glances at him out the corner of his eye, but turns away when he sees a familiar face and doesn’t move to stop him when he steps into the lobby. At the front desk, he shows an ID to the concierge, who pages Atsumu, and then he’s in the elevator heading up to the thirteenth floor, foot tapping against the ground.

He blinks, and then the elevator is opening.

The thick carpet of the hallway muffles his footsteps, and before he knows it, he’s in front of Atsumu’s door.

He stares at it, unseeing, then shakes himself out of his reverie. Just as he's about to knock, it opens suddenly.

“Mi-,” Suna begins to say, startled, before Atsumu interrupts.

“Atsumu,” the other blurts. “Atsumu, Rintarou. Please call me Atsumu.”

Suna’s hand falls back down to his side uselessly. His knees feel weak, and he tightens his grip on the neck of the bottle, scared of something shattering. He gaze flashes to Atsumu's tight grip on the door, and suddenly he's afraid the other will shut him out.

“Okay," he says. "Okay, Atsumu.” He licks his lips, nervous.

Atsumu’s eyes flit down to his mouth like a moth to flame.

“Rin, your lip is bleeding.” And Suna’s tongue darts out to taste salt.

“Huh. I guess it is.” Gnawing on one’s lip does have its consequences, it appears. Does Atsumu like the taste of blood? “Well, are you going to make me stand out here all night long?”

After a moment, Atsumu steps to the side, and Suna walks in, toes his shoes off and shifts them to the side.

“Thought ya weren’t gonna come.”

“Why not? I texted.” Suna sets the wine bottle down on the ground and shrugs off his coat, looping it over one arm.

“Yeah, eight hours ago,” Atsumu says petulantly. “With a _maybe_. What the hell was I s’posed to think?”

Suna grimaces. “Sorry about that." He bends down to pick up the bottle again and chances a look up. "Did you miss me?” 

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “How can I not?” There’s a wry twist to his mouth, and he’s joking, but even so, Suna wants to press his thumb to its corner, even it out.

And this is nothing new, but Suna finds himself warming and feels himself smiling, ever fond. He flexes his free hand.

“Where do I put this?” He shows the wine bottle in a way he hopes is conciliatory. 

Atsumu raises his eyebrows and looks at him strangely.

“A gift? That’s new. What happ’ned ta your parasitic habits?”

Suna sniffs. “People change,” he answers, vaguely. “You want it or not? I can always take it home and drink it by myself.”

“Sure they do.” Atsumu throws back, skeptical, but his face softens. “Whatever. But I’m watchin’ ya.”

 _When are you not?_ Suna wants to shout because he’s realized that whenever he looks, Atsumu’s always looking back. But instead, he follows Atsumu broad back into the kitchen.

Atsumu slides him a bottle opener over the granite counter. “Make yerself useful and open that,” he says, before heading over to the fridge to pull out a large container, filled to the brim with dark fruit.

“’Samu brought this over today.” Atsumu watches him carefully and places it between them. “If ya want any.”

“Aren’t they out of season?” Suna plucks a cherry up by its stem and watches it pitch back and forth like a pendulum. He pops it into his mouth and breaks the skin with his teeth, wincing at the sweet-sour burst of flesh. Summer fruit.

"I dunno, but they taste alright," is the muffled reply. On the other side of the kitchen, Atsumu has his head buried in one of the shelves, fiddling with something inside.

Suna spits the pit out into an empty bowl and sticks the stem in his mouth.

Atsumu comes back with two mugs, and Suna looks at him incredulously. He tongues the stem to a corner of his mouth to speak. 

“Classy.”

“Should’ve brought over your own wine glasses if ya cared,” Atsumu mutters. Suna pushes the unopened wine bottle and corkscrew back towards the other, and Atsumu rolls his eyes but takes them.

Suna rests his head against his hand as he watches Atsumu unwrap the seal with deft fingers and insert the tip of the screw into the cork. The veins on his hands stand out as he twists, and then flex of the wrist as he levers the cork out with a pop.

His tongue wraps around the cherry stem again, and he sucks.

“Hey,” he says after a few moments.

“Hmm?” Atsumu hums as he tilts the wine into the first mug in an arc of red.

“Look at this.” Suna sticks his tongue out, cherry knot cradled in the divot. When Atsumu glances down, Suna watches the long line of his throat as he swallows.

Atsumu’s hand shakes, and red wine splatters against the counter top.

“Fuck,” Atsumu hisses, on edge. 

“Cool, huh?” Suna lets the knot roll off his tongue into the bowl next to the pit.

“Yeah, Rin, real cool.” Atsumu sets the bottle down heavily and rushes to the roll of paper towels. “Lemme wipe this up. You wanna pick a movie or somethin’?”

Suna smiles. “Sure. Hope you know we’re watching the next ten episodes of Case Closed.”

Atsumu swears at him, and he laughs, making his way over to the couch. He sets the tub of cherries down on the small table and flicks through the options with the remote.

When Atsumu settles down next to him moments later, close and warm like the summer sun, he hands him a mug, swings an arm to rest on the back of the couch. Halfway through the second episode and they’ve shifted positions, Atsumu’s legs in Suna’s lap.

Suna drains the last of the liquid from his cup, nowhere near drunk but just tipsy enough that the heat settling in his stomach provides an extra boost for whatever it is he decides to do next.

He shakes the final few drops onto his tongue before setting it down.

“Hey.” Suna nudges the other with his knee.

“’Sup?” Atsumu’s eyes are transfixed on the screen, where ‘Ghost Ship Murder (Part 2)’ is playing. He winces as a character on screen is shot and reaches out to pat Suna’s knee comfortingly.

“Atsumu,” he says, more firmly, moving the other’s legs off of him and onto the couch, and this time, Atsumu’s gaze whips towards him, eyes searching.

“Rintarou.”

Suna gathers up his courage, feeling a little lightheaded, and slants into the other’s space. Slowly, he brings his legs up and settles onto the blonde’s lap. 

Atsumu looks up at him wide-eyed, attention wholly on him now. His hands hover somewhere around Suna’s thighs, unsure.

“You can touch me, you know,” Suna says, and Atsumu’s hands settle on him, heavy and grounding. Suna brings his hands up to Atsumu’s shoulders and pushes him gently until he’s lying down completely.

He watches in fascination as Atsumu’s face blooms firetruck red, his cheeks and the tips of his ears painted crimson.

A moment’s hesitation, and then he curls a sweet hand around Atsumu’s throat. Feels the fluttering pulse and fever heat of his skin and breathes in. Hears his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, parallel.

“You’re nervous,” he whispers. He wants to lean in. 

“Yeah, no kiddin’.” Atsumu swallows, and Suna feels the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Inhale. Exhale. 

Atsumu wraps his fingers around Suna’s wrist. “Rin,” he says, serious. “You need to tell me what ya want.”

Atsumu, solid and present and warm between his thighs, waiting.

“Miya Atsumu.” Suna holds his breath. He focuses on slowing down the racing of his heart, which is quickly leaving him behind. Slow exhale through the nose. He refuses to embarrass himself, and his next words, when they come out, are steady. “I really, really like you." He swallows past the spit pooling in his mouth. "So much I don't know what to do with myself sometimes. Will you go out with me?” 

The words are easy, easier than anything, syrup as they leave his mouth.

His focus widens, then, and again he becomes aware of the spike in Atsumu’s heartrate at his fingertips. Tastes dark cherry juice on his own lips and feels the soft cotton of Atsumu’s sweats against the bare skin of his ankle. 

The world is still turning.

Atsumu is quiet, possibly for the first time since Suna has known him. Quiet long enough, in fact, that Suna starts to feel a little exasperated, his insides wound together in a tight twist.

“Well?” he asks, a tad impatiently. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the humiliation if he’s read things wrong. 

“Suna Rintarou,” Atsumu drawls out then, lips tilting up in a slow spread. “Suna Rintarou,” he says again, smile widening to a full-on grin. His face is going impossibly redder, and Suna watches the way Atsumu’s mouth parts around his name hungrily.

“Don’t wear it out, Miya.”

“Atsumu,” the other corrects, grip tightening on his wrist.

“Don’t wear it out, Atsumu,” Suna concedes. “Are you going to answer or not?”

Atsumu’s thumb rubs circles around his pulse point, slowly, before he unravels Suna’s fingers from his neck and moves them to his mouth. Suna watches as he places a gentle kiss at the junction between thumb and forefinger, at the flesh of his palm, lips soft.

“Do you get it now, Rin?” Atsumu asks, and his gaze is tender.

Suna curves his fingernails into the flesh of Atsumu’s shoulder as his breath leaves him completely.

He deflates onto the other’s chest, arms unsteady, noting in satisfaction when Atsumu wheezes. Atsumu is still holding his hand.

“You planned that didn’t you,” he says into the other’s neck.

“Well it’s a good line,” Atsumu replies, smug, free hand coming up to tangle in Suna’s hair. “Would be a shame to just use it once.” And Suna laughs, teary.

________________________________ 

Fingers brush at the border between his skin and where the top of his underwear is peaking out.

“Wait. Atsumu.” Suna tightens his grip on Atsumu’s hair to pull him back up. “I have to tell you something,” he says, sober. “I slept with your brother.”

“Why would ya say that now,” Atsumu whines, moving to free Suna’s hand from his hair, but when he sees Suna refusing to budge, he relents, sinking down until they’re forehead to forehead. “You’re seriously killin’ the mood here, Rin. Like, majorly.”

Suna stares up at him balefully, cheeks lightly flushed.

Atsumu rests his weight on his forearms before sighing. “I knew that already.”

“What?” Suna's brow furrows.

“But, it doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m the better kisser, right?”

Suna relaxes, feeling giddy. He beams and reaches up to wind his arms around Atsumu's neck, pulling him down for a sweet close-lipped kiss, once, twice, indulgent. 

“Well...”

“What?!” 

“I don’t know,” Suna trails off and smirks. “Might need you to prove it to me.”

And Atsumu scrambles to do just that.

________________________________ 

_@shakespeare_quotes_  


> ROMEO: But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? // It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

_@shakespeare_quotes_  


> JULIET: Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, // Take him and cut him out in little stars, // And he will make the face of heaven so fine // That all the world will be in love with night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. It's really the end hahaha. I'm genuinely thankful to all of you for reading this. Honestly, without all of your encouragement/comments this fic probably wouldn't have gotten past the first 3k words, so really, thank you. It feels kind of bittersweet to finish because it's my first major fic. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, but I'll definitely miss the engagement with all of you! 
> 
> If you want to connect on twitter just lmk, I'm always down to talk about whatever. Anyway, that's it, and thank you!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> twitter at [@atsusuna](https://www.twitter.com/atsusuna)


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